


Warriors Rewritten: Fire and Ice

by FatalBlow



Series: Warriors: Rewritten [3]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Gen, Rewrite, alright well here we are again, anyways it's warriors again and i'm mad again and there's fantasy and improvements galore, but i imagine you're here from the blog or the first book so you already know that, but i mean you get enough external validation and dopamine from a project, i rewrote the second book even though i was thinking about not doing that, it's hard to put back down
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatalBlow/pseuds/FatalBlow
Summary: As Firepaw finishes his training and becomes Fireheart, his life in Thunderclan only grows more complicated.  War between Thunderclan and Riverclan is reignited over a mysterious murder that has both clans reeling, and Fireheart begins to suspect something deeper is going on.  As he starts to investigate the strange goings-on, though, he must grapple with tragedy, loneliness, and questions of morality.Meanwhile in Riverclan, Leopardfur finds herself embroiled in a competition for clan deputy as Oakheart announces his retirement.  However as war fires up between the clans, partly guided by her own paw, she starts to question her dedication to her ambition and wonders if leadership is achievable...or even is the life she truly craves.
Relationships: Firestar & Graystripe & Ravenpaw (Warriors), Firestar & Graystripe (Warriors), Firestar & Ravenpaw (Warriors), Firestar & Sandstorm (Warriors), Graystripe/Silverstream (Warriors), Leopardstar & Silverstream
Series: Warriors: Rewritten [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887265
Comments: 62
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

#  THUNDERCLAN (33)

** Leader **

> _Bluestar_ – blue-grey molly with blue-green eyes, a grey muzzle, and a deep scar across one shoulder
> 
> Child: Mossflower
> 
> Grandchildren: Greystripe, Cinderpaw, Swiftpaw

** Deputy **

> _Redtail_ – a tortoiseshell trans-tom with a mostly red tail and pale green eyes
> 
> Mate: Swiftstep
> 
> Sibling: Willowpelt
> 
> Child: Sandstorm 

** Healer **

> _Yellowfang_ – Dark grey molly with brilliant orange eyes; formerly Shadowclan
> 
> Siblings: Rowanberry, Nutwhisker

** Warriors **

> _Speckletail_ – large golden tabby molly with white front paws
> 
> Children: Lionheart, Goldenflower
> 
> G. Children: Brackenpaw, Brightpaw, Snowpaw, Thornpaw
> 
> _Fuzzypelt_ – pure black tom with yellow eyes
> 
> Children: Lizardtail, Ravensong, Dustpelt
> 
> _Whitestorm_ – white tom with grey tabby points and blue eyes
> 
> Mate: Willowpelt
> 
> Foster siblings: Frostfur, Brindleface
> 
> _Frostfur_ – all white molly with bright blue eyes
> 
> Mate: Lionheart
> 
> Foster Sibling: Whitestorm
> 
> Sibling: Brindleface
> 
> Children: Brackenpaw, Brightpaw, Snowpaw, Thornpaw
> 
> _Lionheart_ – large golden tabby with yellow eyes and a white chest
> 
> Mate: Frostfur
> 
> Parent: Speckletail
> 
> Sibling: Goldenflower
> 
> Children: Brackenpaw, Brightpaw, Snowpaw, Thornpaw
> 
> _Goldenflower_ – ginger tabby molly with yellow eyes
> 
> Mate: Tigerclaw
> 
> Parent: Speckletail
> 
> Sibling: Lionheart
> 
> **Apprentice, Cinderpaw**
> 
> _Tigerclaw_ – dark brown tabby with vivid amber eyes
> 
> Mate: Goldenflower
> 
> Half-sibling: Darkstripe
> 
> **Apprentice, Thornpaw**
> 
> _Mossflower_ – ticked grey tabby molly with yellow eyes
> 
> Parent: Bluestar
> 
> Children: Greystripe, Cinderpaw, Swiftpaw
> 
> **Apprentice, Brackenpaw**
> 
> _Willowpelt_ – dilute tortoiseshell molly with green eyes
> 
> Mate: Whitestorm
> 
> Sibling: Redtail
> 
> _Swiftstep_ – brown tabby tom (p. Runningwind)
> 
> Parents: One-eye, Halftail
> 
> Sibling: Mousefur
> 
> Child: Sandstorm
> 
> _Mousefur_ – brown ticked tabby molly
> 
> Parents: One-eye, Halftail
> 
> Sibling: Swiftstep
> 
> _Darkstripe_ – small black and grey tabby tom with a round face; very distinctive kittypet or Shadowclan traits
> 
> Half-sibling: Tigerclaw
> 
> _Lizardtail_ – pale cinnamon tabby with almost brown eyes
> 
> Parent: Fuzzypelt
> 
> Siblings: Ravensong, Dustpelt
> 
> **Apprentice, Swiftpaw**
> 
> _Sandstorm_ – fawn torbie molly, mostly ginger
> 
> Parents: Swiftstep, Redtail
> 
> **Apprentice, Brightpaw**
> 
> _Dustpelt_ – large brown tabby tom
> 
> Parent: Fuzzypelt
> 
> Siblings: Lizardtail, Ravensong
> 
> _Ravensong_ – skinny black tom with hints of white
> 
> Parent: Fuzzypelt
> 
> Siblings: Lizardtail, Dustpelt
> 
> **Apprentice, Snowpaw**
> 
> _Greystripe_ – grey ticked tabby tom with yellow eyes
> 
> Grandparent: Bluestar
> 
> Parent: Mossflower
> 
> Siblings: Cinderpaw, Swiftpaw
> 
> _Fireheart_ – small Somali tom with vivid green eyes
> 
> Sibling: Princess

** Apprentices **

> _Cinderpaw –_ fluffy gray and white tabby molly with green eyes
> 
> Grandparent: Bluestar
> 
> Parent: Mossflower
> 
> Siblings: Greystripe, Swiftpaw
> 
> _Swiftpaw_ – bulky black and white tom with yellow eyes
> 
> Grandparent: Bluestar
> 
> Parent: Mossflower
> 
> Siblings: Greystripe, Cinderpaw
> 
> _Brackenpaw –_ golden tabby tom
> 
> Grandparent: Speckletail
> 
> Parents: Frostfur, Lionheart
> 
> Siblings: Brightpaw, Snowpaw, Thornpaw
> 
> Cousins: Ashpaw, Fernpaw
> 
> _Thornpaw –_ fluffy golden tabby tom
> 
> Grandparent: Speckletail
> 
> Parents: Frostfur, Lionheart
> 
> Siblings: Brightpaw, Snowpaw, Brackenpaw
> 
> _Brightpaw_ – golden and white molly
> 
> Grandparent: Speckletail
> 
> Parent: Frostfur, Lionheart
> 
> Siblings: Brackenpaw, Snowpaw, Thornpaw
> 
> _Snowpaw_ – pure white tom with striking blue eyes; deaf
> 
> Grandparent: Speckletail
> 
> Parents: Frostfur, Lionheart
> 
> Siblings: Brightpaw, Brackenpaw, Thornpaw

** Queens **

> _Brindleface_ – silver spotted tabby molly
> 
> Foster Sibling: Whitestorm
> 
> Sibling: Frostfur
> 
> Parent: Smallear

** Elders **

> _Halftail_ – dark brown tabby tom with amber eyes
> 
> Mate: One-eye
> 
> Children: Swiftstep, Mousefur
> 
> Grandchild: Sandstorm
> 
> _One-eye_ – pale grey marble and white tabby molly, missing an eye and blind in the other
> 
> Mate: Halftail
> 
> Children: Swiftstep, Mousefur
> 
> Grandchild: Sandstorm
> 
> _Smallear_ – small grey tom
> 
> Children: Frostfur, Brindleface
> 
> Grandchildren: Brackenpaw, Snowpaw, Brightpaw, Thornpaw

#  SHADOWCLAN (22)

** Leader **

> _Nightstar_ – Old black tom with salt and pepper fur
> 
> Children: Duskfur, Wolfstep, Pinecry
> 
> Grandchildren: Whitethroat, Oakpaw, Snowpaw

** Deputy **

> Applefur – mottled brown molly; former rogue
> 
> Mate: Tangleburr (ex)
> 
> **Apprentice, Snowpaw**

** Healers **

> _Cloudpelt_ – Grey tom with patches of white; also known as Runningnose
> 
> Siblings: Tangleburr, Deerfoot
> 
> _Littlepaw_ – Small, pale brown tabby with a white chest and face marking (Littlecloud)
> 
> Parents: Deerfoot, Clawedface, Stumptail
> 
> Siblings: Webpaw, Palepaw

** Warriors **

> _Rowanberry_ – Brown tortoiseshell molly
> 
> Siblings: Yellowfang, Nutwhisker
> 
> Children: Fernshade, Flintfang
> 
> **Apprentice, Webpaw**
> 
> Nutwhisker – Brown tom
> 
> Mate: Scorchwind
> 
> Siblings: Yellowfang, Rowanberry
> 
> _Rockpelt_ – Grey tabby tom with green eyes (p. Boulder)
> 
> **Apprentice, Palepaw**
> 
> Wolfstep – Dark grey tabby tom with small bits of white
> 
> Mate: Flintfang
> 
> Siblings: Pinecry, Duskfur
> 
> Child: Whitethroat
> 
> _Duskfur_ – Dark tabby molly (p. Darkflower)
> 
> Siblings: Wolfstep, Pinecry
> 
> Children: Snowpaw, Oakpaw
> 
> **Apprentice, Brownpaw**
> 
> _Pinecry_ – Dark blue-grey tom (p. Frogtail)
> 
> Siblings: Wolfstep, Duskfur
> 
> **Apprentice, Oakpaw**
> 
> _Deerfoot_ – Calico molly
> 
> Mates: Stumptail (ex), Clawedface (ex)
> 
> Siblings: Tangleburr, Runningnose
> 
> Children: Palepaw, Littlepaw, Webpaw
> 
> _Flintfang_ – Grey smoke tom
> 
> Parent: Rowanberry
> 
> Mate: Wolfstep
> 
> Sibling: Fernshade
> 
> **Apprentice, Dawnpaw**
> 
> _Fernshade_ – Tortoiseshell smoke molly
> 
> Parent: Rowanberry
> 
> Sibling: Flintfang
> 
> Child: Whitethroat
> 
> _Whitethroat_ – Black tom with white paws and chest
> 
> Parents: Wolfstep, Fernshade
> 
> Step-parent: Flintfang

** Apprentices **

> _Palepaw_ – Tall, light brown molly
> 
> Parents: Deerfoot, Clawedface, Stumptail
> 
> Siblings: Webpaw, Littlepaw
> 
> _Webpaw_ – Brown tabby with white paws
> 
> Parents: Deerfoot, Clawedface, Stumptail
> 
> Siblings: Littlepaw, Palepaw
> 
> _Brownpaw_ – Brown tabby with large white markings
> 
> Siblings: Dawnpaw
> 
> _Dawnpaw_ – Cream coloured molly with white markings
> 
> Sibling: Brownpaw
> 
> _Snowpaw_ – Pale grey molly with green eyes; adopted as a kit
> 
> Parent: Duskfur
> 
> Sibling: Oakpaw, Woolpaw
> 
> Oakpaw – Brown tabby tom with yellow eyes; adopted as a kit
> 
> Parent: Duskfur
> 
> Sibling: Snowpaw, Woolpaw

** Elders **

> Newtspeck – Torbie molly
> 
> Scorchwind _–_ Brown ticked tabby tom
> 
> Mate: Nutwhisker

  
  


#  RIVERCLAN (31)

** Leader **

> _Crookedstar_ – Huge, pale tabby tom with a twisted jaw and a white chest, belly, and paws
> 
> Sibling: Oakheart

** Deputy **

> _Oakheart_ – Brown tabby tom with white paws, chest, and a white mark on his nose and toes
> 
> Children: Stonefur, Mistfoot
> 
> G. Children: Reedkit, Sleetkit, Heronkit

** Healer **

> _Mudfur_ – Brown and white tom
> 
> Mate: Greypool

** Warriors **

> _Whitefang_ – Old white tom with brown tabby points; former rogue
> 
> _Mallownose_ – Brown and white tom
> 
> Mate: Swanflower
> 
> Sibling: Ivytail
> 
> Children: Sedgecreek, Pinepaw, Shellpaw
> 
> _Ivytail_ – Brown mackerel tabby molly
> 
> Sibling: Mallownose
> 
> _Swanflower_ – Almost all white molly with ginger markings
> 
> Mate: Mallownose
> 
> Children: Sedgecreek, Shellpaw, Pinepaw
> 
> _Swallowtail_ – Black smoke molly
> 
> Mate: Sedgecreek
> 
> Parent: Echomist
> 
> Sibling: Voleclaw
> 
> **Apprentice, Shellpaw**
> 
> _Voleclaw_ – Grey tabby smoke tom with hazel eyes
> 
> Mate: Skyheart
> 
> Parent: Echomist
> 
> Sibling: Swallowtail
> 
> Children: Pebblefrost, Beechfur
> 
> _Rippleclaw_ – Black and silver classic tabby tom
> 
> Mate: Stonefur
> 
> _Blackclaw_ – Black smoke tom with random white markings in his pelt
> 
> Mate: Mistfoot
> 
> Parent: Pikefoot
> 
> Sibling: Skyheart
> 
> Children: Reedkit, Sleetkit, Heronkit
> 
> _Skyheart_ – Brown smoke molly
> 
> Mate: Voleclaw
> 
> Parent: Pikefoot
> 
> Sibling: Blackclaw
> 
> Children: Pebblefrost, Beechfur
> 
> _Stonefur_ – Grey tom with white toes and shredded ears
> 
> Mate: Rippleclaw
> 
> Parent: Oakheart
> 
> Sibling: Mistfoot
> 
> _Sedgecreek_ – Almost all white molly with brown tortie patches
> 
> Mate: Swallowtail
> 
> Parents: Swanflower, Mallownose
> 
> Siblings: Pinepaw, Shellpaw
> 
> Iceclaw – White tom with grey ears and tail (p. Whiteclaw)
> 
> Mate: Sunfish
> 
> Children: Shadepelt, Mosspelt
> 
> _Sunfish_ – Tortoiseshell and white molly
> 
> Mate: Iceclaw
> 
> Children: Shadepelt, Mosspelt
> 
> _Silverstream_ – Silver Bengal molly with green eyes and a white chest
> 
> Sibling: Leopardfur
> 
> _Leopardfur_ – Golden Bengal molly with white paws
> 
> Sibling: Silverstream
> 
> _Mosspelt_ – Calico and white molly
> 
> Parents: Sunfish, Iceclaw
> 
> Sibling: Shadepelt
> 
> _Shadepelt_ – Black molly
> 
> Parents: Sunfish, Iceclaw
> 
> Sibling: Mosspelt
> 
> **Apprentice, Pinepaw**
> 
> _Pebblefrost_ – Spotted grey tabby tom
> 
> Parents: Skyheart, Voleclaw
> 
> Sibling: Beechfur
> 
> _Beechfur_ – Brown and white tabby tom
> 
> Parents: Skyheart, Voleclaw
> 
> Sibling: Pebblefrost

** Apprentices **

> _Pinepaw_ – Chubby brown and white tom.
> 
> Parents: Mallownose, Swanflower
> 
> Siblings: Sedgecreek, Shellpaw
> 
> _Shellpaw_ – Thickset ginger and white tom.
> 
> Parents: Mallownose, Swanflower
> 
> Siblings: Sedgecreek, Pinepaw

** Queens **

> _Mistfoot_ – Blue-grey molly with a white chin
> 
> Mother of Reedkit (black tom), Sleetkit (pale grey molly), and Heronkit (dark grey tom)
> 
> Mate: Blackclaw
> 
> Parent: Oakheart
> 
> Sibling: Stonefur

** Elders **

> _Echomist_ – Silver smoke molly with green eyes
> 
> Children: Voleclaw, Swallowtail
> 
> Grandchildren: Pebblefrost, Beechfur,
> 
> _Piketooth_ – Skinny, all brown tom with protruding canines; former rogue
> 
> Children: Blackclaw, Skyheart
> 
> Grandchildren: Pebblefrost, Beechfur, Reedkit, Sleetkit, Heronkit
> 
> _Greypool_ – Forgetful grey and white molly
> 
> Mate: Mudfur

#  WINDCLAN (28)

** Leader **

> _Breezestar_ – Black and white tom with a very long tail (p. Tallstar)
> 
> Half-sibling: Flytail

** Deputy **

> _Deadfoot_ – Black tom with a twisted front left paw
> 
> Mate: Ashfoot
> 
> Sibling: Pigeonspot

** Healer **

> _Barkface_ – Brown tom with faint tabby markings and a short tail

** Warriors **

> _Stagleap_ – Brown tabby tom
> 
> Sibling: Doespring
> 
> Children: Buzzardtail, Wrenwhisker, Owlwhisker
> 
> Grandchildren: Robinkit, Goldkit, Lightkit
> 
> _Harefur_ – Ginger tom with a white chest and front paws
> 
> Mate: Flytail
> 
> Children: Whitetail, Sunstrike
> 
> **Apprentice, Swiftpaw**
> 
> _Flytail_ – silver tabby and white molly
> 
> Half-sibling: Breezestar
> 
> Mate: Harefur
> 
> Children: Whitetail, Sunstrike
> 
> _Pigeonspot_ – Grey spotted molly with a white chest and face
> 
> Sibling: Deadfoot
> 
> Children: Swiftpaw, Dewpaw
> 
> _Ashfoot_ – Grey, broadfaced molly with a white locket
> 
> Mate: Deadfoot
> 
> _Morningflower_ – calico and white molly
> 
> Mate: Mudclaw
> 
> Child: Gorsepaw
> 
> _Doespring_ – Light brown molly
> 
> Sibling: Stagleap
> 
> _Beetlepelt_ – Rusted black tom
> 
> Mate: Tornears
> 
> _Mudclaw_ – Mottled brown tom
> 
> Mate: Morningflower
> 
> Sibling: Tornears
> 
> Child: Gorsepaw
> 
> **Apprentice, Dewpaw**
> 
> _Tornears_ – Pale grey tom with stubs for ears
> 
> Sibling: Mudclaw
> 
> Mate: Beetlepelt
> 
> _Buzzardtail_ – Light brown tabby tom
> 
> Parents: Stagleap
> 
> Mate: Shrewfoot
> 
> Siblings: Wrenwhisker, Owlwhisker
> 
> Children: Robinkit, Goldkit, Lightkit
> 
> _Thrushtail_ – Light grey-brown tabby tom (p. Rushtail)
> 
> Sibling: Shrewfoot
> 
> _Wrenwhisker_ – Skinny brown tabby tom with a white chest and paws (p. Onewhisker)
> 
> Parent: Stagleap
> 
> Siblings: Owlwhisker, Buzzardtail
> 
> **Apprentice, Gorsepaw**
> 
> _Owlwhisker_ – Light brown tabby tom
> 
> Parent: Stagleap
> 
> Siblings: Wrenwhisker, Buzzardtail
> 
> _Sunstrike_ – Tortoiseshell molly with white facial marking
> 
> Parents: Harefur, Flytail
> 
> Sibling: Whitetail
> 
> _Whitetail_ – Almost all white molly with dilute tortoiseshell points
> 
> Parents: Harefur, Flytail
> 
> Sibling: Sunstrike

** Apprentices **

> _Swiftpaw_ – pale mackerel tabby molly
> 
> Parent: Crowfur
> 
> Parents: Pigeonspot, Cinderface
> 
> Sibling: Dewpaw
> 
> _Dewpaw_ – spotted tabby molly
> 
> Parent: Crowfur
> 
> Parents: Pigeonspot, Cinderface
> 
> Sibling: Swiftpaw
> 
> Gorsepaw – Orange and white tabby tom
> 
> Parents: Morningflower, Mudclaw

** Queens **

> _Shrewfoot_ – Brownish grey trans molly (p. Webfoot)
> 
> Adoptive mother of Robinkit, Goldkit, and Lightkit
> 
> Mate: Buzzardtail
> 
> Sibling: Thrushtail

** Elders **

> _Crowfur_ – Black tom with a grey muzzle
> 
> Children: Deadfoot, Pigeonspot
> 
> G.Children: Swiftpaw, Dewpaw
> 
> _Cinderface_ – Mottled grey tom
> 
> Children: Swiftpaw, Dewpaw

#  OUTSIDERS

> _Blackfoot_ – Black smoke tom with polydactyl toes
> 
> Sibling: Russetfur
> 
> _Russetfur_ – Dark ginger molly
> 
> Sibling: Blackfoot
> 
> _Tangleburr_ – Pale brown and white molly
> 
> Mate: Applefur (ex)
> 
> Siblings: Runningnose, Deerfoot
> 
> _Stumptail_ – Brown marble tabby tom who lost his tail(p. Stumpytail)
> 
> Mates: Clawedface, Deerfoot (ex)
> 
> Children: Littlepaw, Palepaw, Webpaw
> 
> _Clawedface_ – Brown tabby tom with vicious scars on his face(p. Clawface)
> 
> Mates: Stumptail, Deerfoot (ex)
> 
> Children: Littlepaw, Palepaw, Webpaw
> 
> _Lizardstripe_ – Dark brown molly
> 
> Children: Tangleburr, Cloudpelt, Deerfoot
> 
> _Bone_ – A massive black and white tom with wicked blue eyes
> 
> _Brick_ – A slender ginger cat with a sharp tongue; they/them
> 
> _Scourge_ – The mysterious leader of the organizing town cats
> 
> _Princess_ – Fireheart’s older sister, a silver shaded Somali with unusually pale eyes
> 
> _Smudge_ – Black and white kittypet
> 
> _Sasha_ – Tortie point molly, former kittypet
> 
> _Barley_ – large, longhaired white and black tom who lives on the barn


	2. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh we do be just jumping right into this, huh? Anyways, if you're not here from the blog and you don't see any chapters after this one, keep reading a sec. If there are chapters after this one, though, just go on and skedaddle this is meaningless to you.
> 
> Anyways. I still want to do a round of editing, so proper updates for book 2 won't be starting until later in the week, maybe on the weekend right before March starts. Prologue and Allegiances are set in stone, though, so I'll toss those here while y'all wait. As I did for the other book, updates will be daily (UNLESS I forget, in which case you're more than welcome to remind me as long as it's not like right in the morning when I'm not even awake to post it) until the book is finished.
> 
> That said, have fun. I really like this book and I really like Leopardfur, and I hope you do too.

Winter was coming and it was no warmer in the nighttime streets of the nearby Town than it was in the forest where this tom was normally at ease. He didn’t show that unease, though. Orange lamplight rippled along his tabby pelt as he strode, chin up, along the hard stone sidewalk which bordered the main road into town.

“Is, uh, is this really a good idea?” one of his companions asked, biting down on a nervous laugh. “Really feels like we’re walking straight into the den of a bear.”

“If you’re afraid of a few town cats, then that’s your problem,” his slimmer companion retorted.

“Alright, listen, these cats…they’re not right. Some of them were in Shadowclan, Brokenstar’s fucking cronies, and I know for a fact that they gave you that nick in your ear,” the stouter tom retorted.

“Oh like a clan cat’s never nicked an ear before?”

The leader gave a sharp flick of his tail, demanding silence from his young companions. He stopped in front of an alleyway full of heavy shadow, dropping his jaw to scent the air. At first, all he could smell were the harsh, burning scents of human society. But a second later, he caught wind of cat.

Immediately after, a smoky black tom stepped out of the alleyway. His ears were cropped and he was accompanied by an equally massive molly, whose fur was so red he could very nearly mistake it for blood. Her ears were shorn too, the only marker they’d taken with them from their time with the Shadows. Save for the knives on their belts of course.

The lead tom settled back on his haunches, appraising the siblings. “Well? Can you take me to them?”

“You really sure you want this?” the red molly said. “You never struck me as stupid.”

“She’s right,” her brother added. “You didn’t grow up here. You don’t know what the streets will bring you.”

“Now, now,” the leader soothed, his purr helping to lower the hackles of those around him. “I’ve had worse fights, I assure you. And why do you think I brought help? I’ve heeded your warnings—but now it’s your turn to trust me.”

“I trusted Brokenstar,” said the smoky tom. “See where that got me?”

“Starclan has its ways. It led you to me, didn’t it?” He didn’t reply, eyes cast off to the side. “I’m star-chosen, you know. Saja runs through my veins— _leadership_ runs through my veins. If the achievements of my father and his father aren’t enough for you, what will be?”

“I suppose when I see it with my own eyes,” he said. “But I can’t deny that Saja’s blessed you, or else you wouldn’t be standing here under Silverpelt’s own eyes.”

“Precisely. Now…take me to them?”

The siblings shared a look, and finally relented. The leader followed them into the Town’s alleyways, where he suddenly found himself lost. Odd that he could go anywhere in his own territory, a maze of trees and wood that it was, but the moment he was surrounded by rock and brimstone, swamped in the reek of searing human stink, he was sense-blind.

The siblings had no problem, though, and soon they led him and his companions down a slope of stone to a human-river, where their waste water poured into the forest river. It didn’t flow tonight, though, and they slipped through the shiny bars over the cavern from which it originated.

Just inside, they were met by two scraggly looking mollies sat atop stone pillars. The siblings balked, and the leader thought he knew why. These mollies had adorned their long, patchy fur with teeth and bone, and over their heads? Skulls.

“Scourge has a visitor,” said the smoky tom. “A forest tom with a preposition. And I can—”

“I remember you,” one of the mollies, her fur pure white, croaked. “Four seasons out and the two of you are already crawling back, are you? Forest not enough prey for you?”

“I heard the forest had so much prey it’d run straight over your paws,” the second, pure black, cackled. “Not challenging enough for you? Or did the grass loving fucks kick you out? Or did you get tired of stealing kittens for them?”

While he faltered, his sister growled: “I think that’s for Scourge’s ears, not yours.”

“And look at you, lad,” the white molly sneered. “Still causing trouble?”

“I’m a molly now,” she retorted.

“Oh she’s a molly now,” the black molly mocked.

Finally the leader shouldered his way between the siblings.

“I’m sorry, allow me to speak for myself,” he said. “I may be a forest cat, but I’ve always respected the town cats’ strength. I wanted to have a conversation with your leader about what I have to offer—and for little in return, I promise.”

The mollies shared a look. “Alright, handsome,” said the white one. “And what exactly are you offering?”

“Land,” he replied. “We ‘grass loving fucks’ have plenty of prey to speak of, like you said. I’m more than willing to give it to cats who need it more than us in order to achieve what I need to achieve—what I’m destined to achieve.”

Both mollies brightened up. The black molly leapt down from where she was perched and sprinted down the tunnel, her black fur melting into the darkness. The leader sat down to wait, drawing a paw over an ear to hide his delight at how well this was going. Town cats and forest cats had their differences, sure, but they were both remarkably easy to coerce.

Diplomacy wouldn’t take him all the way to where he needed to be, though, and he’d discovered that the hard way. If _she_ was going to force his paw, though, well then so be it. There would be no love loss in the end after she’d stolen what belonged to him by blood.

That was why he was here, though. It didn’t matter what the town cats were—lazy, spoiled, human-loving, stupid—as long as there were a lot of them. But even he was shocked by their organization as he stood here at the mouth of their camp, stopped by the will of a pair of guards. Frankly, he expected to find this Scourge—some leader of the town cats—atop a certified throne of garbage, a cruel mockery of clan hierarchy and succession.

But shocked didn’t mean impressed. Any cat that could think their way around a few roads and alleys could think to gather in a group of each other, could think to have protection at the gates of where that gathering was. No, he was not impressed, not in the slightest.

The black molly returned and beckoned them deeper into the tunnel. He followed readily, his company at the heel. How bold of them to allow five large, well-fed forest cats into the thick of their territory. This was the reason he wasn’t impressed.

“Shit,” his smaller companion hissed. Shooting a quick look back, the leader cast his eyes to the walls of the tunnel.

In the half-light, tapetum lucidum gleamed in the dozens, perhaps more, the rest of their bodies only barely outlined against the pitch black stone. For the first time since arriving, the leader felt a chill.

“In here,” his guide said, gesturing to a smaller side tunnel. He dipped his head in thanks and slipped inside, only to stop when she barred the way of his companions. “No, only him.”

“Stay,” he ordered when his first two companions began to pipe up.

He didn’t need to argue to make them stay behind, and he didn’t stick around to do so. He strode down the tunnel until it opened up to a much larger room, where he was hit by the thick smell of death and decay. The center of the room was dominated by a pile of bones illuminated by Silverpelt’s gaze through a grate far above.

That chill from earlier had become a trickle of dread. This many disturbed bones in one place most certainly had to have spirits furious and fitful. To think the town cats would do something so stupid as to leaves bones unburied— _to jumble them together like garbage_ —amazed him. He could practically feel the undead whipping around about his head, tortured by their extended stay on this earth.

But as far as an onlooker was concerned, he was unperturbed.

Atop that pile of bones lay no cat, though, even though it seemed a throne of sorts. Rather, at its foot, lay many, including a collection of cats ravenously tearing apart some sort of prey in the corner. The two cats that met him just before the hill of bones were a burly black and white tom and large ginger cat whose sex he could not determine by scent.

He was caught by the tom’s eyes, though. Striking pale blue.

“Are you Scourge, then?” he asked, coming to a stop just a couple feet away.

“No,” he said, voice like gravel. “Scourge isn’t here. You talk to me.”

He flattened his ears. “I didn’t come here to talk to you, whoever you are.”

“Bone,” he said flatly. “And trust me: my word is as good as Scourge’s.”

“He’s right,” the ginger cat remarked. “Might as well be the same damn cat, big guy. So who are you? I hear you’re a forest cat.”

Shooting a look at Bone, he decided he would have to settle. “I am,” he said, sitting down. The pair eyed him for that, but he ignored it. “And I’m a cat of considerable pull there as well.”

Bone didn’t seem to show emotion. He wasn’t like a Shadow, though. No cropped ears, no barely twitching tail, he was simply still, rigid even, all save for those wicked blue eyes, which blinked once.

“Is that so?” he said. Even his voice hardly had any inflection. He sat down as well, though, the first sign that he might be intrigued. “Alright, I will listen. Scourge will indeed be interested in why you have come here, especially when Mitski tells us that you have promised us land.”

“I have, and for little in return.”

“That she said as well. Brick?” The ginger cat perked up. “Bring the visitor some prey. Scourge wouldn’t want us to be inhospitable to something who has the potential to be such an honoured guest.”

Brick disappeared behind the bone pile and quickly reappeared with a scrawny bird. “Sorry it isn’t fat enough for you, feral,” they sneered.

He dipped his head in thanks regardless. “No, but it is the best you have to offer and for that I’m grateful.”

“Alright, stranger,” Bone said as Brick retook their place, “tell us what brings you to this deep into the Heart.”

Settling in to pluck the feathers from his skinny prize, he curled his tail with delight. “ _Gladly.”_


	3. Chapter 1

Tonight was the night of the Gathering, and Firepaw padded through the part of the forest that bordered the Houses knowing that if he attended, it would be as a warrior. His final hunting assessment was just wrapping up, but he wasn’t the least bit worried. In the time since he’d joined the clan, he’d become a capable hunter with perfect form.

Plus, after he’d passed his battle assessment the week prior with no issue whatsoever, he felt comfortable in his confidence. It hammered home that he belonged here, no matter his roots among the house cats, and he fully expected to attend the Gathering as a full fledged warrior.

Most of all, though, he wanted to know what had happened to Shadowclan. Just a couple weeks had passed since they’d killed Brokenstar and driven his loyalists out, and he was dying to know what had happened in Shadowclan following that. Who was the leader? Were they at peace now? He hadn’t heard from Nightpelt or Newtspeck, who’d both returned to their clan without Yellowfang, the former Shadowclan healer, and he wanted to know if they were doing better.

As the Houses came into view, Firepaw slowed to a stop right before the grassy stretch separating the woods from the fence. Now that the summer months had passed and autumn was upon them, the lush green growth he’d come to be accustomed to was slowly turning into decaying yellows and oranges. It was more of a boon than he’d expected: his pelt blended in perfectly.

He was about to turn away from the place of his old life when he heard someone call out: “Rusty!”

He settled on his haunches as Princess strode over, cool as could be. “Hi, Princess! I didn’t think you’d be here today.”

“I’ve been lingering,” she remarked. “I wanted to see you, so I stuck around.”

He blinked. “Really?”

She gave him a playful swat upside the ear that made him yelp. “Yes, really. You’re my little brother. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” She narrowed her eyes, though. “That nick in your ear wasn’t there before.”

He drew a paw over it. After two weeks of healing, the nasty tear that Lizardstripe had left in it was feeling better, especially with the help of Yellowfang’s herbs. “What do you think? My first battle scar.”

Her whiskers twitched with amusement. “Cute. Well, catch me up, kit. What’s Rusty been up to?”

A bolt of excitement zipped down to the tips of his toes. “Well, I’m becoming a warrior tonight! And then I won’t be Firepaw anymore, I’ll get a new name and Bluestar already told me that she’s chosen the perfect one for me and I just…I can hardly believe it, you know? I didn’t think I’d get this far, Princess, I kinda thought they wouldn’t let me _be_ a warrior or…or…”

He trailed off because Princess wasn’t reacting in the slightest, killing his eagerness before it could truly thrive. Before he could complain, she said: “I guess that would be nice, if I knew at all what it meant. You never tell me anything about forest life.”

He flattened his ears. “I tell you enough,” he retorted. “Just because I don’t tell you how we fight or how we hunt or about the things that you just don’t need to know doesn’t mean I don’t tell you anything. I’ve told you about the friends I’ve made, about the kittens that were born. I’ve _told_ you what a warrior is before!”

“I just don’t like you hiding things from me, Rusty. What am I going to do with a few fighting techniques, anyways?” she said, her own ears twisting backwards and the fur on her spine beginning to rise. “Defend myself better, maybe?”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be picking fights if you need fighting techniques so bad that you can’t defend yourself!” he exclaimed. “Look, Princess, I swore to Thunderclan that I wouldn’t share their techniques outside of the clan. It’s the price I pay for being allowed to see you, and even then…” He shook his head. “You don’t _need_ to know it.”

She exhaled heavily through her nose. “I just want to know more about the life you’re living and how they’re treating you.”

“Then why do you keep asking about techniques? What does that have to do about how they’re treating me?”

“I think it has a lot to do with how they’re treating you, because if what they’re teaching you isn’t satisfactory…”

“I’ve been in four fights already,” he said firmly. “And I’m going to see plenty more, but at least two of those were pretty big battles. I think I’m doing just fine.”

She snorted. “I didn’t realize forest cats had such affairs that could lead to ‘pretty big battles.’”

“Then you’d be pretty surprised,” he said. “I’m in the middle of a hunting assessment, though, and I need to get back soon. Maybe I can see you again in a couple of weeks? Do you want to pick a specific day?”

“We’ve never picked before.”

“That was back when I stayed in one place,” he pointed out. “Then at least you could come back once a week or so. But now that we’re both busy…”

“Alright then. How about the night of the half moon?”

“That works for me.”

“Fine. Good luck on your assessment.”

Despite their argument, Firepaw felt warm from her parting words. She still cared…she was just obtuse about it.

After catching a mouse while it took advantage of fall time berries, he took his bounty and headed back to where the assessment had begun. Redtail, Lionheart, and Whitestorm were all waiting, but he was the first one back, surprisingly.

“Welcome back,” his mentor, Redtail, purred. “I saw you catch that squirrel, ‘paw. Your form was as good as any warrior’s.”

“Good haul, too,” Lionheart commented. “Pelts like ours really help around this time of year, when the leaves have turned bright. You could hunt in the daytime and still have good luck, I think.”

“Yeah I was just thinking that!” Firepaw said.

“And you thanked the prey for their lives?” Whitestorm asked.

“Sure did.”

“Good,” Redtail said. “I expect you to be attending the Gathering tonight as a warrior.”

While he glowed with delight and excitement, a new shape slipped out of the bushes. Ravenpaw was back, laden with a few mice and a starling, his black fur ruffled and his ears laid back.

“I don’t think I did well,” he muttered, coming to sit beside Firepaw.

“You did lose track of where that thorn bush was,” Whitestorm remarked, “but you made up for it and still caught that starling with a leap worthy of Irves. Being a warrior isn’t always about perfection—if you get the job done, then you’ve done enough.”

“But…”

“And I saw you catch a couple of those mice,” Whitestorm continued. “Your form was good and you returned with plenty of prey to contribute. Many of your mistakes are your nervousness, Ravenpaw. I’ve seen you hunt without an assessment hanging over your head. You did just fine.”

Where at one point Ravenpaw might have brushed off those words, he now straightened up a little. “Thanks, Whitestorm. Did I pass, then?”

Whitestorm curled his tail, probably the most affectionate Firepaw had even seen him. “Yes, and I think you’ll make a fine warrior.”

And then out of the bushes blundered Greypaw who, despite his heavy pawsteps, was just as laden with prey as Firepaw and Ravenpaw. He trotted over to Lionheart, mouth full with a small rabbit that he dropped proudly at his feet.

“I think I passed,” he said smugly.

“Despite all odds,” Lionheart said, giving him a friendly cuff over the ear. “Good job on that rabbit, ‘paw. Next time think about bringing it back to camp first before you decide to drag it with you. It’s a wonder you got your claws on that vole at all carrying around the stink of dead rabbit the entire time.”

He puffed out his chest. “Guess I’m just that good of a hunter.”

Redtail chuckled while Lionheart rolled his eyes. “Let’s head back to camp. Bluestar will want to hear about how you did.”

“Nice rabbit,” Firepaw said as they followed their mentors back to camp.

“Fanks!” Greypaw said around a mouthful of fur.

“Probably the last good bit of prey we’re going to see for a bit,” Ravenpaw murmured. “The Snows are coming soon. Hiverne’s already been sleeping more.”

“It won’t be as bad as last winter though, right?” Firepaw said.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Every winter is hard, though. It’s really going to test whether you’re going to stay or not.”

Firepaw clamped his mouth shut, barely able to contain his annoyance. Hadn’t he proved time and again that he wanted to stick with the clan through thick and thin? No one else had their resolve questioned. Even Greypaw, who’d seen about as much of winter as he had. Why did it have to keep coming up?

But he didn’t comment on it, and they slipped through the tunnel into camp.

Almost immediately, Frostfur and Lionheart’s rambunctious litter collided with them. “The food’s here! I want to try a mouse!” Brightkit squealed. “Pleeeeeease?”

Lionheart batted them away. “Alright, alright, you can see what Mom chooses for you, alright?”

“I’m big enough to choose for myself.”

“Uh huh. You take it up with her.”

With a groan, Brightkit took off towards her mother. Her brothers were hot on her heels, but Firepaw couldn’t help but notice Thornkit lagging behind. He’d heard Frostfur and Yellowfang talking about him having a cold. He didn’t actually know what a cold was, though. He hoped Thornkit would be okay.

While they deposited their prey and their mentors went to speak with Bluestar, their denmates trotted over to them.

“Did you fail?” Cinderpaw demanded. “I hope you failed!”

“What?” Firepaw sputtered. _“Why?”_

“Because then I’ll be stuck with this killjoy,” she said, nodding towards Swiftpaw. He gave her a hardy smack in return, and she retaliated with a yell.

“I’m _glad_ we’re not going to be sharing a den with you two,” Greypaw commented while they rolled across the ground. “You know how many times I’ve been woken up by you two fighting?”

“That just means you’re finally getting the true sibling experience!” Cinderpaw said, standing neatly on top of Swiftpaw. “You had no littermates so you don’t _get it_.”

“Ravenpaw has a littermate and he doesn’t wake me up.”

“Only because he and Dustpelt were ‘paws at different times!” she exclaimed. “Stupid.”

With a growl, Greypaw launched himself at her and suddenly all three were scuffling. Firepaw and Ravenpaw shuffled away to give them room.

“I kind of wish we were though,” Ravenpaw commented quietly. “It doesn’t feel like we’re littermates at all. Lizardtail doesn’t feel like much of a brother either.”

“I noticed that,” Firepaw said. “My sister, Princess, and I weren’t littermates but we are, er, we were pretty close.”

“Yeah, it’s…” He sighed. “I guess it has a lot to do with Robinwing.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, Firepaw, especially because I wasn’t really…sad when she died?” His ears twisted back. “That sounds bad.”

“No, keep going.”

“She kind of…hated me, I think?” he said awkwardly. “It was… See, she kept telling us—me, Dustpelt, and Lizardtail—that we needed to be the best Thunderclan had to offer, but I never felt like I could be the best with warriors like Tigerclaw or Lionheart around so…I guess I didn’t want to try. That’s the _real_ reason why I was apprenticed late.”

“Oh. That’s… I can see that,” he said. “Are you sure she _hated_ you, though? She was your mother.”

“Completely,” he said. “Because I was like Fuzzypelt—like Dad—and she hated him, too, because he wouldn’t fight, just like me.”

“But you can still hunt,” Firepaw pointed out. “And you tell stories, and Fuzzypelt likes to make stuff. I think that’s plenty.”

“Yeah, I get that now,” he said. “And I’m glad I do. It’s easier to feel like I’m contributing something relevant to the clan, even if I can’t fight. I just wish Dustpelt and Lizardtail saw it that way.”

Not knowing what to say, Firepaw put a paw on Ravenpaw’s shoulder. It seemed to be the right thing to do, as he closed his eyes and relaxed.

They straightened up when Bluestar ran and leapt up the rock tumble, yowling to announce the clan meeting to anyone in camp. While everyone gathered together, Redtail, Lionheart, and Whitestorm came back over.

“So this ceremony won’t demand much from you,” Redtail said while Lionheart worked on breaking up the fight between Swiftpaw, Cinderpaw, and Greypaw. “Unlike the apprentice ceremony, all you need to do is look pretty and bow your head while she bestows your new name.”

Firepaw fought the urge to leap up and run a lap around the camp, channeling that energy into a few hurried licks on his shoulder before asking: “And then we can’t speak, right? Because we have to keep watch all day and let the, uh…”

“Let the weight of your new responsibilities settle on your shoulders,” Whitestorm finished for him. “That’s exactly right. Don’t worry, we’ll be here to tell you what you need to do. You don’t need to start your vigil until dawn, though, after we’ve returned from the Gathering.”

“And come dusk, one of us will come get you so you can get some rest,” Redtail said, “so you don’t need to worry about when to leave your vigil.”

“What if something happens?” Ravenpaw said nervously. “Can we talk then?”

“Yes,” Redtail said. “If you see a threat during your vigil, you come tell either me or Bluestar.”

“But why do we have to do it during the day? Won’t Hiverne see us?” Firepaw said. “Or is the top of the ravine close enough that the camp charms still protect us?”

“No, Yellowfang will give you charms like the ones you needed on your journey to the Moonstone,” Redtail said. “And we do it during the day because that’s when the clan is least active—not only is your vigilance more relevant, but you’re given the solitude that you need to see the path that lies before you and your new place within the clan.”

When he opened his mouth to ask another question, Redtail sighed: “Firepaw, you have seconds to get your pelt in order. You can ask me questions after, alright?”

“Right!” He quickly began to groom the parts of his pelt that had become rumpled.

“Are we becoming apprentices?!” Brightkit, again leading her pack of brothers, shrieked from the bottom of the rock tumble.

“Shush, Bri,” Frostfur said. She had Thornkit pulled tightly to her side, his face pushed into her shoulder. “You’re too young. Another few moons yet.”

“I can wait,” Brackenkit said proudly. “Does that mean I’ll be a good apprentice?”

“It makes you a boring one,” Brightkit said.

Frostfur hissed softly as the kittens began to tussle. For her part, Bluestar actually looked fondly at the distraction. Once they were settled, though, she raised her head to address the clan.

“Tonight we welcome three new warriors to the clan,” she announced. “Firepaw, Greypaw, and Ravenpaw have all completed their training under Redtail, Lionheart, and Whitestorm. They’ve fought plenty of battles and hunted plenty of mice, learned the tales of Hiramau, Saja, and Irves, and seen the midnight eye of Starclan itself at the Moonstone. They are ready.”

She gestured Greypaw forward to stand at the base of the rock tumble.

“My first grandson,” she said with an uncharacteristic warmth. “You’ve caused me, your mother, and your mentor plenty trouble, Greypaw, but you’re a force of positivity that the clan needs, especially with winter preparing to bare her fangs. From now on, you will be known as Greystripe.”

Not a second after receiving his new name, Greystripe reared his head back to let out of a yowl of delight. The rest of the clan laughed, while Bluestar merely sighed and gestured Ravenpaw forward.

“Ravenpaw, you may have been late to your training, but you’ve become a Thunder cat that your clan can be proud of,” she said. “Your gentle words and creative mind will entertain the clan for seasons to come and your patience shows that you have great potential as a mentor. From now on, you will be known as Ravensong.”

Ravensong didn’t have nearly the same reaction that Greystripe did, but pride nonetheless gleamed in his eyes as he gave Bluestar a respectful nod and stepped back beside Greystripe.

And now it was Firepaw’s turn. He swallowed hard as Bluestar beckoned him forward. He sat at the base of the rock tumble, head bowed, feeling as if every pair of eyes on him was filled with disapproval.

But things had changed. He wasn’t ignored or brushed aside nearly as often as he had been when he’d first come to the clan, or even after he’d brought Yellowfang into the clan. He knew that many of those eyes weren’t filled with disapproval. They were filled with genuine delight. With pride.

“You’re an outsider to the clan, Firepaw, but you’ve taken to life in the wild like a River to water,” Bluestar said. “And even though you stumble in understanding some of our ways, that isn’t always a bad thing. With your help, Yellowfang has become Thunderclan’s new healer, her name cleared, and Frostfur’s kits safe. From now on, you will be known as Fireheart.”

As he raised his head, the entire clan cheered for him and his two friends. He backed up to sit beside Ravensong and Greystripe, chest feeling ready to burst as he first caught Redtail’s eye and then Yellowfang’s, both alight with pride.

“In celebration, the three of you are welcome to come to the Gathering,” Bluestar continued. “As for the rest of you, I know tonight will be interesting, but I couldn’t bring all of you, so please don’t be disappointed with the cats I’ve chosen.”

While she listed off those who would be attending the Gathering, Fireheart dashed over to Redtail. He met him with a head bump, purring so loud that it was all Fireheart could hear for a moment.

“Fireheart,” Redtail said. “Bluestar told me that was the name she would be giving you, and now I finally get to say it to you. I’m so proud of you”

“Thank you,” Fireheart said. “Thank you for training me so well, Redtail. You’re the best mentor I’ve ever had.”

“I’m your only mentor!” he retorted, and they both laughed.

“Congrats,” Yellowfang said from beside Redtail. “Frankly after beating me in a fight, I would have been damn insulted not to see you earn your name.”

“You were tired and hungry anyways,” Fireheart said. “We both know that you could cream my ass in a fair fight.”

She swished her tail once, looking at him with smug pride. “You’re damn right I could.”

“It’s time to go to the Gathering,” Redtail said. “Talk and walk, ‘paw—er, Fireheart.”

Redtail bounded out of the camp after Bluestar along with Yellowfang and the rest of the clan. Tail high in the air, Fireheart followed.


	4. Chapter 2

Autumn cold river water lapped at the shores of Riverclan territory, and peering in Leopardfur could see the vague flickers of movement as the fish that normally hid in the deepest, most dangerous parts of the river moved towards the shores as night fell. With the weather cooling, she knew some of the biggest fish would emerge as their prime hunting season returned after the long, hot days of summer.

“Thinking ‘bout catching a muskie?” Silverstream commented from nearby.

Leopardfur pulled her eyes away from the waters to glance at her sister. In the bright, wide eyes of Silverpelt, her pelt shimmered like the river waters themselves, lovingly dappled by large, clouded rosettes. Not a River in form, yet she still managed to catch the eye of many toms—and an almost equal amount of mollies.

But to Leopardfur, she was mostly a teasing little shit.

“No,” she growled in return. “I’m not stupid.”

“When you were fresh you were,” commented Mosspelt between broad strokes of her tongue across grey, white, and fawn dappled fur.

“Yeah, I didn’t think two months would make such a huge difference,” Silverstream said.

“It was summer!” she snapped. “How was I supposed to know it was a muskie? They aren’t around in summer!”

“You were diving in deep waters,” Shadepelt, the final member of their group, said. “What did you expect? A couple of friendly bass?”

“If I could go one fucking second without the three of you ganging up on me…”

“It would’ve been a great catch if you’d gotten it,” Silverstream said sympathetically.

“Well I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t. You know we’re only teasing, right?”

Leopardfur huffed and turned back to her fish watching. Of course it was just teasing. What sort of River was she, just as unable to recognize it as she was able to tease herself? She didn’t know why it was so easy for Silverstream.

Maybe she was getting too worked up over it. Most days, though, she felt like the only serious cat in Riverclan. Especially when war brewed across the borders. A strong wind blowing from Shadowclan territory had brought with it the smells of cat blood and battle scent, and after all the tension surrounding Brokenstar’s controversial leadership, she had to think that something happened that night.

Crookedstar had shrugged it off when she’d brought it up to him. We will hear about it at the Gathering, he’d said. As if the Gathering hadn’t been two weeks away, and so much could happen in two weeks. What happened across the border affected them, too, after all.

It left her stuck playing the waiting game, full of apprehension. Tomorrow night was the Gathering and she was nothing but tense. Silverstream’s teasing didn’t help.

“Did you guys hear about Oakheart?”

At the comment by Mosspelt, Leopardfur raised her head and tuned back into the conversation.

“I heard he’s thinking of retiring,” Shadepelt said.

“He is?” Silverstream said. “Is it really almost his ninth summer?”

“Apparently the last summer was.”

“He’s not just thinking of retiring,” Mosspelt said. “He _is_ retiring. Not soon, mind you, but I _may_ have heard him and Crookedstar talking about who would replace him.”

Leopardfur felt a stab of anxiety. An anxiety she thought she had no right feeling, and yet the thought sprang on her anyways: it was too soon. She’d wanted a chance at deputyship, but she was two months into being a warrior and probably wouldn’t be given an apprentice until her sixth month, if not much later.

It was silly to think that she had a chance at all. Even if she were a River born and raised, she certainly didn’t have the disposition that Crookedstar would want.

“Oh wow,” Silverstream said. “Did they mention anyone?”

“Just that Crookedstar wants someone younger to take over, since he’s getting old too. Hey, Shade, didn’t you say Crookedstar was thinking of giving you a ‘paw?”

And just like that, anxiety turned to jealousy. She angrily turned back to her fish watching. Of course Shadepelt was getting an apprentice on her second month. Shadepelt who’d been the perfect ‘paw, acing all of her assessments, catching a huge fish her first time hunting. Perfect at everything she ever tried. Of course Crookedstar would give her an apprentice, and surely she would be perfect at that too.

But it was to be expected. Shadepelt was clanborn and she wasn’t. And the truth was that she simply wasn’t that great of a warrior. That she was perfect only in one way—perfectly average.

Shadepelt, though. Wonderful, beautiful, funny, outgoing Shadepelt. More River than most Rivers. A better warrior that many of them, at least. A better warrior than her, for sure. There was just no competition to be had.

Mid-conversation, Leopardfur stood up abruptly. “I’m going hunting,” she said.

“Oh, you want company?” Silverstream asked.

“Not really.” She winced when Silverstream’s ears twisted backwards, and quickly added, “I just want to decompress alone. We’ll hunt another night.”

“Okay. I guess it isn’t like we don’t have all the time in the world now that we’re warriors,” she added, whiskers twitching.

That was true. She still wasn’t used to the sheer amount of free time she had. Whitefang, her mentor, had had her busy quite frequently. Even though he’d slowed down and given her more freedom towards the end of her training, the transition had nonetheless been jarring. She almost missed the hard work. She wished she had more to do.

She walked upstream in the direction of Windclan territory. Dawn was coming fast, and it really would be the perfect time to do some fishing before spending the day in camp or on Sunningrocks lazing about.

She sighed. She didn’t want to laze.

“Going fishing?” She raised her head when a cat hollered at her from across the water. Whitefang was sitting on one of the rocks in the middle of the river, his fur spiked up by the spray.

Without replying, she plunged into the water and swam over.

“I remember when you would have hesitated before jumping in like that,” he remarked as she pulled herself up.

“I don’t want to be teased right now,” she growled. At least she could be herself around Whitefang.

“I don’t tease. I’m proud of how far you’ve come.”

She exhaled through her nose, relaxing. Whitefang always had a way of making her feel just a bit better. It helped that Whitefang himself was an outsider—and like her, had never taken up the typical Riverclan temperament. She was certain that was why Crookedstar had given her to him to mentor in the first place.

“The walleye will be alive soon,” Whitefang said. “Especially because it’s cloudy.”

“And they don’t like the light.”

“Good to know you still remember the things I taught you,” he said. “I remember the day Crook taught me that. I still can’t believe how much the collective knowledge of a clan can hold onto to make life easier.”

She said nothing. Whitefang, who’d been three years old when he’d joined Riverclan, knew what life as a loner was like, and he didn’t often speak kindly on it. She nonetheless fantasized about the loneliness, though. To her, it seemed much better to feel lonely when she was actually alone, rather than lonely even though she was surrounded by Riverclan.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, positioning himself to begin fishing.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Don’t give me that. I know you well enough by now.”

She flattened her ears. “Oakheart is retiring.”

“He told me. I didn’t realize it was for clan ears, though.”

“It’s not. Mosspelt overheard him talking about it.”

His ears swivelled forward, his eyes on the water becoming intense. “Ah. It really bother you that much? I think he deserves a break.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “A part of me wanted more time. I wanted to be able to train an apprentice and maybe…maybe have a shot at it. I never should have gotten my hopes up.”

His paw lifted, readying a strike. “No? Why not?”

“Shadepelt’s getting an apprentice before me and she’s always been a better warrior than me. If anyone has a chance at deputyship, it’s her. Why would I ever even consider it when I have her to compete with?”

Whitefang’s paw flashed towards the water, scooping a young walleye from the depths. Leopardfur reacted, reaching up and catching the slippery thing between her paws. She sank in her claws, and with the aided grip pinned it to the rock and killed it when an expert blow.

“A deputy isn’t the best warrior,” Whitefang said. “A deputy is a cat who supports and aids their leader, providing a valuable opinion and a fresh perspective to balance out that of the ‘star. They show signs of great leadership and good problem solving. Maybe that’s Shadepelt, maybe it isn’t. It certainly doesn’t take you out of the running.”

“When am I going to get a chance again, though?” she said. “Crookedstar is choosing someone to secede him. Doesn’t that mean that who he chooses will be young? What are the chances that something happens to them or that they’ll want to step down?”

“Yes, it’s pretty traditional for an older deputy to step down as their leader ages and allow a younger cat to pick up the role. It lets the ‘star teach their deputy the skills they will need to take on their title once they pass. Whoever Crookedstar chooses will most likely be the next leader of Riverclan.

“But that’s a decision that he must take time to make,” he continued. “Especially when there is more than one obvious candidate. Most likely we won’t see Oakheart step down for a few months yet—not until Crookedstar has had time to observe and consider his options.”

“Pinekit and Shellkit are the only kits on the verge of being apprenticed,” she said. “There’s no way I’m getting one of them if Shadepelt’s getting one. Crookedstar would never have two inexperienced mentors training at the same time for one litter.”

“Never say never, Lep,” he said. “Fate has a funny way of going about things.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What do you know?”

“Nothing,” he said earnestly. “I just hate to see a cat as strong willed as yourself so willing to give up on a dream.” When she opened her mouth to respond, he added, “Enough talking. Fish now and understand that it’s fate’s turn, not yours.”

With a huff, she reluctantly settled in for a bit of rock side fishing. She just couldn’t believe that, though. She couldn’t believe that fate was ever out of her paws.


	5. Chapter 3

Fireheart (he still couldn’t quite believe he was _Fireheart_ now) was eager for the Gathering. Between punishments and simply being too tired to go, he hadn’t been to as many Gatherings as Ravensong or Greystripe. He was eager to see all the cats he’d begun to form tentative friendships with over the past six months.

“I can’t wait to see Silverstream and tell her that I’m a warrior now,” Greystripe said. “She’s been rubbing it in my face for the past two months!”

“At least it won’t be so weird when you flirt with her,” Ravensong remarked.

He flattened his ears. “You’re always flirting with Owlwhisker, and he was a warrior way before Silverstream!”

“I’m older than you,” he retorted. “And I’m not _flirting_.”

“Do _you_ think it’s weird, Firep—Fireheart?” Greystripe demanded.

“I don’t even know what qualifies as flirting,” he said flatly.

Greystripe’s tail curled over his back. “I could show you?”

“Why? What would I need it for?”

Ravensong snorted a barely restrained laugh, while Greystripe rolled his eyes. “Never mind,” he grumbled.

“What? Wait, did I miss the joke?”

“You did, but that just makes it funnier,” Ravensong purred.

They crested the rim of the hollow to see that Shadowclan and Riverclan had already arrived. When Thunderclan went to mingle, it was mainly among the Shadowclan cats, with cold looks tossed in the direction of the Rivers. After having been ambushed on the border a little over a month ago, Fireheart couldn’t help but feel the fur along his back spike with injustice. He’d had a headache for days after that!

Not everyone avoided the Rivers, though, as he spotted Tigerclaw and Darkstripe join a conversation with Sunfish and Shadepelt of Riverclan.

He and his friends had barely begun to mingle when a tiny tabby tom sprinted over to him. The last time he’d seen this tom in the Shadowclan camp, they’d been crouched together underneath a bush. Then, he hadn’t been able to tell that this ‘paw’s legs were as stumpy as they were, but as Littlepaw scampered over now, he finally realized why he seemed so tiny when he was at least six months old.

“Hi, Firepaw!” he greeted, tail straight up in the air. “I’m glad you made it to the Gathering, I really wanted to see you!”

“Hi, Littlepaw, it’s good to see you!” It was. Even just a couple weeks later, Littlepaw looked much more bright eyed and much less stressed. “It’s Fireheart now—I got my name just before we got here.”

“Fireheart! That’s an awesome name,” he purred. “I wanted to ask you if your kittens are okay? Are _you_ okay? Did anyone die?” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Newtspeck has a cold right now.”

Fireheart purred, amused by the ‘paw’s enthusiasm. Maybe, perhaps, because he remembered battering Redtail with the same rapid fire questions. He hoped that if he ever got an apprentice—not that his hopes were up—that he would have one as curious and eager as Littlepaw. Though he privately told himself that if he did, that he would keep an extra close eye on them at Gatherings.

“Everyone’s fine,” he said. “You should be more careful about what you say to other clans, though. I won’t say anything, but someone else might.”

He shuffled his paws. “I know, that’s what mom told me, but you seem really cool. I _can_ tell you this, though: Cloudpelt is thinking about making me his apprentice! I’m not yet, but I really like herbs and taking care of cats—more than fighting, actually, even though I thought Blackfoot was a really good mentor—and now that I’m _actually_ six months, Cloudpelt said that he’ll think about it more! I hope he says yes.”

His heart swelled for the young tom. “That’s great! I hope he says yes, too. I bet you’ll make an amazing healer.” And Cloudpelt could probably use the help. It was no wonder so many cats called him Runningnose—he seemed to have a constant case of the sniffles that even he couldn’t cure.

“Fireheart, are you coming?” Greystripe asked, fidgeting nearby as he slowly inched towards the collection of young warriors sitting near one of the oak trees.

“Yeah, sure. Talk to later, Littlepaw, good luck!” he said, waving his tail as he backed out of the conversation.

Looking only a little downtrodden, Littlepaw waved his tail back. “Bye, Fireheart!”

“Cute,” Greystripe remarked dryly once he was by his side again.

“We met when we helped drive Brokenstar out,” he said. “I think it _is_ cute. What are you going to do when you get an apprentice?”

Greystripe guffawed. “Me? Get an apprentice? Next you’ll tell me that cats can walk on the clouds. Grandma wouldn’t ever in the right mind give me an apprentice.”

“You know what? I think that’s for the best.”

By now, Windclan had arrived and Owlwhisker and Wrenwhisker were sitting with Silverstream, Mosspelt, and Ravensong.

“Hey, Ravensong told me you two got your warrior names,” Silverstream said as they walked up. “Congrats on not being ‘paws anymore! Looks like I can’t tease you anymore, Greystripe.”

Greystripe laughed. “Like I’d stop you if you did,” he shot back.

“Congrats on getting your name,” Wrenwhisker said to Fireheart as he sat between him and Ravensong. “After that fight with Brokenstar, you deserved it.”

“Thanks. Were you there?”

He shook his head. “Pricks was, though,” he said, nodding towards his brother.

Owlwhisker didn’t seem to talk much, but his ruddy brown tabby fur spiked up a bit at the nickname. “It was a tough fight,” he commented.

“I bet it was for you,” Greystripe said before Fireheart could reply. “A scrawny Wind like you—I don’t know how guys can fight at all. You look so fragile!”

The brothers flattened their ears and glared at Greystripe. Muttering a curse at Greystripe for attempting to stir up trouble, Ravensong put a paw over his eyes and shook his head.

“That’s because all you know how to do is hit hard,” Silverstream said.

“Yeah, your only tactic is to sit on your enemies,” Fireheart quickly joined in.

Greystripe hissed playfully, and the friendly atmosphere returned as they traded stories about battle, in particular regaling the River mollies with the story of what happened with Brokenstar and his loyalists. It was easy to do now that all the Shadow warriors that they’d battled were exiled.

But Greystripe wasn’t so easily deterred from shit talking—something he most certainly got from his mouthy mentor, Lionheart.

“Where’s Leopardfur, by the way?” he asked Silverstream and Mosspelt. “Too scared to come after three apprentices sent her ass running?”

Silverstream leveled a glare at him while Mosspelt hissed softly. No one was speaking up this time as Silverstream retorted: “If I remember the story correctly, we sent at least one of you running and another up a tree. And you? Thank the stars you’re half furred and no brained, because that’s the only thing that saved you in that thorn bush.”

Greystripe scoffed. “If Riverclan wants our woods so bad, you should get used to thorns!”

“Or we avoid them, like a sensible cat. I can’t believe you have a pelt left!”

“I can’t believe your sister has a pelt left after Fireheart covered half the clearing in it! Is that why she didn’t come? Is she bald now? I thought fish made your fur grow better!”

“Greystripe, can you shut up?” Fireheart said.

“No, I want to hear more,” Mosspelt said with mock cheer. “Tell me how the big bad warrior ran headfirst into a thorn bush to get away from us weak widdle Wivers!”

“I’m just wondering why Leopardfur didn’t come is all,” he said, backing off with a twinge of mock innocence, his paw to his chest. “Is that so bad?”

He yelped when Ravensong, of all cats, swatted him across the ear. “I liked you better when you were flirting,” he growled.

Every cat stopped to stare at him, and his ears twisted back with embarrassment. “It’s the only thing he listens to,” he mumbles awkwardly.

“The Gathering’s starting anyways,” Wrenwhisker cut in, thankfully before Greystripe could say something else stupid. “We should pay attention.”

“Cats of all clans!” Riverclan’s leader, Crookedstar, yowled. “The Gathering will now begin! Nightstar, it seems like Shadowclan has plenty of news to share, so I will let you go first.”

He stepped back, letting Nightstar, formally Nightpelt, step up to the edge of the Gathering rock. Somehow he looked even prouder and grander than he had before. Fireheart had always noticed that he maintained the spark of a hot-blooded warrior, but now as he stood on the Great Rock, the stars reflected in his yellow eyes and sparkling across his salt and pepper fur, he looked larger than life.

“To pay for his many crimes,” Nightstar began, “crimes of kit murder, of naming kits before their time, of mistreatment of his elders, of favouritism of his most loyal warriors, of framing and running off our once-healer Yellowfang, and of the murder of the late Raggedstar—Brokenstar has been deposed. His body lies now in the root tangle of a soul tree at the side of the road, and let its trunk strip him of name and of power and deny him the privilege of walking with stars in his paws. In reference, he is the Kit Killer, and will be known as nothing more.”

At that, Shadowclan let out cheers, as did Thunderclan and Windclan. Riverclan joined in only a little less eagerly, having not been invited to help drive out the Kit Killer.

“And though I’m up in years, I’ve come out of retirement to take on leadership of the clan,” he continued. “As I was deputy seasons ago, I was the only cat in the clan with the appropriate skills to take on leadership, and I have named Applefur as my deputy.”

“Forgive my intrusion, Nightstar…” Crookedstar began.

His ears flattened. “I might not, depending on the next words out of your mouth.”

The Riverclan leader pressed on nonetheless. “It’s quite traditional for a younger cat to take on the title of ‘star,” he remarked, “and for an older deputy to then support them as they grow used to their duties. Is there a reason you’ve eschewed this tradition?”

“I was the only cat in the clan fit for leadership,” Nightstar repeated. “The details of Shadowclan’s decision are not for your ears, Crookedstar.”

He dipped his head. “Very well, then.”

Nightstar faced the crowd again. “I will not name those who were exiled for their loyalty to the Kit Killer,” he said, “but rest assure they are no longer welcome, and if you should come across them, treat them like the rogues they are. All the apprentices wrongly apprenticed two moons early have reached their sixth moon, and will remain ‘paws. Finally, Yellowfang has chosen not to return to Shadowclan, and Cloudpelt will be her permanent replacement.”

Some murmurs of confusion followed, and many cats’ eyes were drawn to Yellowfang, seated along with the other healers and with the deputies at the base of Great Rock. Nightstar said no more as he stepped back.

Breezestar wasted no time in stepping forward. “I was patient, Nightstar, letting your clan a moment of peace and knowing the Gathering would soon be upon us, but I need to know: we retrieved the Thunder kits with no issue, smelling of their home clan still, but what about the Wind kittens that the Kit Killer stole?”

“They died,” Nightstar said flatly. “Not only was the Kit Killer found to murder kittens he deemed too weak, but many kittens were apprenticed too early and killed during the harsh training sessions that he enforced.”

Breezestar flattened his ears. “Impossible. Shadowclan stole three kittens from us—and you’re telling me all three are dead? Do you think I’ll believe that our kittens are so weak that they didn’t survive, and yet your apprentice den is full of Shadow ‘paws who survived just fine?”

“I have nothing to say about how weak or how strong your kittens are, Breezestar, but the fact remains that your kittens didn’t survive and for that I’m sorry.”

“Fine.” Fireheart was shocked when Breezestar tore his eyes away, letting the argument lie. “Should I find out you’re lying, Nightstar, Windclan won’t be kind to you as you recover.”

“Then I am fortunate that I’m telling the truth,” Nightstar shot back.

Breezestar ignored him to say: “Windclan has little news to share. In the wake of autumn, the clan is thriving, and by the next moon we will welcome Shrewfoot’s litter to the apprentice den. Whitetail and Sunstrike have also earned their warrior names, and I look forward to their future as warriors.”

The clans cried out in support of Whitetail and Sunstrike, but Shadowclan wasn’t nearly as vocal. Breezestar stepped away, and Bluestar took his place.

“Thunderclan is thriving,” she boomed, her voice ringing clear across the Gathering. “Frostfur’s litter was named and welcomed into the clan—in three moons time, Brackenkit, Thornkit, Snowkit, and Brightkit will fill our apprentice den. Furthermore, Fireheart, Greystripe, and Ravensong have earned their names and become full warriors.”

A cry went out for the three of them. Fireheart felt his heart swell much like it had when Thunderclan had welcomed him, newly named, into the warriors’ den. For a short moment, he felt like he completely and truly belonged here in the forest. He hoped one day he would feel like that all the time.

“I bet she’s going to call out Crookedstar for that attack on us,” Greystripe leaned over to hiss. Fireheart was surprised he was so eager to hop on that, barely taking any time to bask in the acknowledgement of his new name. “I can’t wait for her to call him a coward in front of everyone!”

But Bluestar stepped back, letting Crookedstar take the stand. Greystripe stared at the Great Rock in dismay. Even Fireheart was confused and, as he glanced at the rest of his clanmates, they were also exchanging looks.

Crookedstar looked all the prouder, as if he felt like he’d gotten away with the cowardly attack on a trio of Thunderclan apprentices. His news was quick—Beechfur and Pebblefrost had become warriors, the fish in the river was better than ever—and afterwards, without any fanfare, the Gathering ended. After a later start, no one seemed interested in remaining too long, and the clans separated to head back to their territories.

Dying to hear Redtail’s opinion of the Gathering, Fireheart made sure he was within earshot of his former mentor as he made pace with Bluestar at the front of the pack.

“Bluestar, I thought you were going to bring up the border attack?” he whispered.

Bluestar looked him blankly. “The border attack?”

“When Fireheart, Greystripe, and Ravensong were attacked?”

She continued to stare at him, until realization dawned in her pale green eyes. At once, her ears were back and she growled at Redtail. “Did I ask for your opinion, Redtail? It’s my decision to decide what is and isn’t said at a Gathering.”

One of his ears twisted back. “Did you forget?” he asked, his tone turning gentle.

“Do not talk to me like a kit,” she snapped. “Let Riverclan think we’ve forgotten. It will make retribution much easier and much sweeter if they think it isn’t coming.”

“Ah…yes, that’s a good point. We should talk more on what we will do in return, then. Tomorrow night, maybe?”

“Yes, come find me tomorrow night.”

Once they were back in camp, Redtail gathered up the three new warriors. “Dawn will be coming soon, so let’s begin your vigil—”

“Why didn’t we call out the stupid Rivers for that attack?” Greystripe blurted out. “They’re going to think they can walk all over us!”

“Bluestar has her reasons,” Redtail said without missing a beat. “You will need to trust her decisions.”

“Exactly,” Whitestorm said as he joined them, though Fireheart didn’t miss how the two toms shared knowing looks. “Right now, the three of you should be more focused on your vigil than on clan politics. As you progress as a warrior, you will have more presence and say in discussions like this, especially if you become a member of your ‘star’s inner circle, but for your first six months, eyes will still be on you.”

“Yes, you’re still very fresh,” Redtail said. “Even though we aren’t your mentors anymore, we’ll be helping you become accustomed to life as a full warrior. Questions _after_ your vigil, Fireheart,” he added, eyeing his former ‘paw.

Fireheart twitched his ears sheepishly, swallowing the question on his tongue. “Alright, Redtail.”

“Actually, let’s start the vigil now,” Lionheart said as he joined them. “I can do without Greystripe’s loud mouth. Ah bup bup,” he raised a claw when Greystripe opened his mouth, “if you break your vigil for anything short of a good reason, you could be cursed with bad luck for the rest of your career.”

Reluctantly, Greystripe snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

“Good call,” Whitestorm said. “Remember you only get to use that once.”

“Oh and I will cherish every moment of this silence,” Lionheart purred. “These have been a long six months.”

“You think it’ll get better? We’re sharing a den with them now,” Redtail remarked.

“I’d rather him in the den, actually. Within paw reach to give him a solid smack when he starts up.”

At that, Greystripe lunged at Lionheart, who laughed delightedly as he wrestled the new warrior to the ground. Redtail and Whitestorm rolled their eyes.

“Alright, let’s get the three of them set up so we can go to sleep,” Redtail said, beckoning them along.

They were led to the top of the ravine to a spot that overlooked the camp. Fireheart had been here before; he remembered an evening when Redtail had woken him up very early and taken him here. The view in the early spring drizzle had been unlike anything he’d ever seen. And now, with Hiverne’s eye just peaking over the horizon, washing the camp in dappled, leaf-filtered red, it was one of the most gorgeous views he’d ever had of the camp.

Redtail looped a small, fragrant smelling pouch over his head, letting it sit proudly on his chest. “Don’t wince when Hiverne sees you,” he said. “Show him that you’re proud, and you will have nothing but fortune for the rest of your time in the clan.”

He nodded, and Redtail purred.

“I’m proud of you, Fireheart,” he said. “Have a silent vigil. We’ll collect you at dusk.”

And with that, they were left to the warmth of autumn day.


	6. Chapter 4

Fireheart felt as if something grand should have happened during his vigil. That he would spot a dog in the distance, running towards the camp off human leash, and he would be the one to warn the clan. Or perhaps he would scent a fox, slinking towards them with intent to steal kittens.

Those thoughts had been grandiose at best. By the time the sun was setting, he’d been just about asleep. He and Ravensong had nudged Greystripe plenty of times as his chin drifted towards his chest. In fact, Ravensong was the only one of them who hadn’t grown twitchy and impatient towards the end of the vigil—he stared upwards into the distance blue sky, the distant clouds reflected in his grass green eyes as a storm bound for midnight had rolled in.

When Redtail had come to relieved them, he’d almost been disappointed about how boring it’d been. But maybe boring was a good thing.

Now on the night of the half-moon, after a few days of rest and a few days of hunting, Fireheart headed towards the Houses to see Princess. He was excited to tell her his full name.

He came to the Houses and stopped to groom himself while he waited for her to show up. The cold crept up into him, but his pelt had grown thicker and warmer, and it only left his paws feeling a little chilled.

Soon, Princess appeared at the top of the fence. “I’m surprised you came,” she remarked, leaping down to join him.

“What? Why?”

“You’re so busy with your cult now.”

“You’re busy too and you find time for me,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I find time for you?”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“By the way, I got my warrior name,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I’m Fireheart now. Are you proud?”

“The forests cats do have an interesting way of doing things, don’t they? Why do you keep changing names? Why didn’t they just keep you as Rusty?”

“Rusty isn’t a clan name,” he said. “And it shows what your rank is. If you’re a ‘kit, then you’re still in the nursery. If you’re a ‘paw, you’re still training. And then anything other than ‘paw means you’re a warrior, unless you have ‘star.”

She at least seemed a bit intrigued. “And ‘star is…?”

“Leader.”

“How does a cat become a leader?”

“I…don’t think I should say much more,” he said.

“But are they the strongest? The smartest?”

“Princess, stop asking questions.”

She flattened her ears, but inclined her head in reluctant agreement. “Fine.”

“Why don’t you tell me how everyone’s doing? How are Smudge and Henry and everyone else?”

“They’re fine. Smudge asks me about you every time he sees me. So I try not to be seen.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because he’s annoying,” she said flatly. “I still don’t know how you were friends with him.”

“Smudge is nice, why wouldn’t I be? And he’s not that annoying.”

She flicked an apathetic ear. “When he catches me, I tell him you’re fine regardless. Maybe you should visit him sometime so I don’t have to, though.”

“I think I will, if I can catch him outside. Thanks for letting me know.”

They talked for a while afterwards, mainly small talk. Princess was light on the details of her side of things; she spent more time talking about the other house cats and what they were doing than whatever she was doing, even though he pressed.

He didn’t like it. Every time he saw Princess, the gap between them seemed to grow larger and larger. Come to think of it, though, Princess had never really told him about her life, even before he’d become a forest cat. In his youth, he’d brushed it off the moment she suggested play. Now that he was older, though, he felt like he had no way to connect to her, and she wasn’t willing to help out.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on with you,” he finally said.

“I just did.”

“No, you told me what everyone else was doing.”

“It’s not like you tell me everything going on in your life,” she retorted. “Is there to be a double standard?”

“But I tell you more than you tell me!”

“Barely. I need to go,” she said, rising to her feet. “Have fun chewing on bones, Rusty.”

He followed her as she padded back to the fence. “Wait, when should we see each other again?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’ll hang around by the fences and call to you if I see you.”

Without waiting for him to agree, she leapt up and over the fence and disappeared.

*

“It was with every misdeed that Coalheart’s pelt grew whiter and whiter. First it was just a fleck when she swallowed a minnow as an apprentice, then a patch when she received her warrior name on the basis of lie, telling her leader that she drove away a Beast of the Fog all on her own.”

Mistyfoot’s young kits sat enraptured by Piketooth’s tale. Leopardfur had already heard this story—and from Piketooth himself in fact—but the tom was an enthusiastic storyteller. He told tales with grandiose, pulling in anyone within earshot. She had nothing better to do than lie in the camp, so she lay nearby and listened while she groomed.

“What’s a Beast of the Fog?” Mistyfoot’s largest kit, only just recently named Reedkit a month ago, asked.

“A devilish thing,” he said. “When the fog rolls in, the Beast comes with it. It makes shapes and shadows, things unreal. Even the oldest, most experienced warrior can become lost in their own territory because of the Beast. I knew a warrior who, days after he lost his mate, walked into the river during the fog and never returned. The Beast had called him with visions of his dead mate, and mad with grief as he was, he answered.”

The kittens’ fur was stood on end. “Then how do you fight it?!”

“You can’t, but Coalheart convinced her leader that she had. Throughout her life that patch grew and grew—when she murdered a clanmate who had spited her on the Sunningrocks and blamed it on the Thunders, when she fell in love with a Shadowclan tom, and when she bore his kits.

“It was at a Gathering that her secret was revealed by her own sister, a cat who’d sworn to never tell anyone about her affair with the Shadowclan tom. As punishment, her leader cast her out of the clan, but Coalheart’s misdeeds did not stop there. She murdered her sister first, vengeful after the reveal.

“Next she killed her mate, who denounced her at the Gathering and claimed that she had coerced him into loving her. By the time his blood was on her claws, only the tip of her tail was black—the only goodness in her that was left was her love for her kits, which she had been forced to leave behind in Riverclan.

“When she learned that they had passed from illness, however, she snuck into the Riverclan camp at night, killing the healer because she believed it was they who let her litter die. It’s said that as the sun set and she stood over the healer’s lifeless body, even her eyes, nose, and pads had turned white with the completeness of her evil.

“Irves saw all this, and decided that was enough. She called a storm from Hiramau, asking him to strike Coalheart dead so that her evil would never touch Riverclan again. And to ensure that no Riverclan can would ever follow in Coalheart’s footsteps, she decided that Riverclan must be reminded of a cat’s potential for evil. That’s why all Riverclan cats have white on them—to represent that we all have good and bad inside of us.”

Sleetkit, one of Reedkit’s sisters, let out a squeal of terror. “Swanflower is almost all white!” she wailed. “Does that mean she’s evil?!”

Suddenly all the kits were wailing and demanding answers, leaving Piketooth scrambling to explain that it was just a metaphor. Leopardfur watched, amused by the kittens’ dramatic responses.

“They might have been a bit young for that story,” Mistfoot said, walking up behind Piketooth. Her tail was curled over her back, clearly amused.

Piketooth chuckled. “My bad. Shellkit and Pinekit took that story much better.”

Leopardfur rolled onto her back with a sigh. A second later, a face blotted out her view of Silverpelt’s slitted eyes. “Alright, Lep, you promised me hunting,” Silverstream said. “No getting out of it this time!”

“I was never trying to get out of it,” she said, heaving herself to her paws. “It’s just never been a good time.”

Silverstream flicked her across the nose with her tail. “Yeah, sure, you keep telling me yourself that. Come on, let’s get you a muskie.”

Leopardfur flattened her ears, but nonetheless followed Silverstream out of camp.

“So what’ve you been moping about lately?” Silverstream asked, leading her in the direction of Sunningrocks just upstream.

“Why do you think I’m moping?”

“You’re just in a constant state of moping, so it’s pretty safe to assume.”

The teasing was easier to handle in private, when no one was around to laugh at her, but Leopardfur nonetheless couldn’t stop her tail from twitching irritably. “Do you really care or do you just want to make fun of me?”

Silverstream blinked at her. “Of course I care. Why wouldn’t you think I cared?” Leopardfur looked away sharply. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, I—” She exhaled sharply through her nose. “It’s stupid, Silvy. I got my hopes up for something that’s probably never going to happen.”

“Oh. The deputyship, huh?”

She grimaced. “Am I that obvious?”

Silverstream gave her a loving head bump. “You’re my sister, idiot. You’ll always be obvious to me.”

She couldn’t help but purr a little, but it quickly faded. “I already talked about it with Whitefang anyways. It doesn’t matter. He keeps telling me that I shouldn’t give up on my dream but—look, I’m just trying to be realistic.”

“Wow, Whitefang isn’t the idealistic type,” she said. “He really told you to keep hoping?”

“More or less.”

“Well then he obviously thinks you’re still in the running, Lep.” She flattened her ears, but Silverstream continued, “I’m serious. I’ve been around Whitefang plenty too—hardass he can be, no wonder you turned out like this—and he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. I bet he knows something.”

Though she winced at the comment, it was quickly washed away by the realization that she was right. “That’s a good point,” she said tentatively.

“Pinekit and Shellkit are going to be apprentices any night now,” she continued. “I know Shade got promised one of them, but it’s not impossible that you’d get the other. Wouldn’t that be exciting? Especially cus you love being busy—a ‘paw’s perfect for you.”

She laughed a little. “I guess. I don’t actually know how good of a mentor I’d be, though. I’m not really interested in kits.”

“Neither is Whitefang, and he did…” She looked Leopardfur head to toe. “An okay job with you, I guess.”

Leopardfur hissed and gave her a playful swat. “Sure thing, Mentored-By-The-Leader-Star. You still don’t know how lucky you are that you got Crookedstar as your mentor!”

She shrugged. “Crookedstar and I bonded, Lep, who else was going to be my mentor? He’s basically like a dad.”

“To you, sure.”

“Bah, don’t be jealous. You’ve got Whitefang—and you know, some days I wonder just how close he and Crookedstar are, y’know?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t turn every conversation about Whitefang or Crookedstar into a secret theory about how they’re desperately in love.”

“But it’s such a grand love story, Lep! Your oldest friend comforting you after the loss of your mate and kits, grieving together, and seasons and seasons later, once you finally heal, realizing you’re in love and finding new life with each other?”

“Life isn’t a fairy tale.”

She scoffed. “Looks like I got all the imagination in Mom’s belly, huh? Well what about you then? What’s your ideal love story?”

They plunged into the river, swimming towards the rocks in the centre. As they pulled themselves onto the tiny island, Leopardfur replied.

“I don’t have one,” she said. “No one in the clan is interesting.”

“I didn’t ask about your crush, I asked what your ideal love story is!”

Leopardfur shook out her pelt and sat down, taking a small break before they struck out for Sunningrocks. She didn’t want to talk about this. Most of her thoughts were spent worrying about the clan, about becoming deputy, and especially that knowing that Shadepelt was very much in line to become that. Only rarely did she spare herself thoughts of a mate—sunning herself with the molly she loved more than anything in the world, being nothing but herself around her, maybe even adopting or getting help for a litter of kittens someday.

But even to Silverstream she didn’t dare spill the most vulnerable of her innards. “I don’t think about this stuff. Sure I might want a mate someday, but it’s the furthest thing from my mind right now. And why do you say ‘my crush’ like I have one?” she added with a suspicious side-eye.

“Like I don’t see you staring at Shadepelt all the time.”

She had to restrain herself from groaning. “Shadepelt’s competition, not mate material.”

“Oh sure. Then why do you stare at her all the time?”

Leopardfur leapt into the river and swam towards Sunningrocks instead of answering. She hoped her sister would drop the issue. She didn’t want to go into her conflicted feelings around Shadepelt and their (one sided, she was sure) rivalry anymore than she wanted to talk about her secret romantic fantasies or whatever fluffy name Silverstream might give them.

As she pulled herself up onto the rocks, though, she could already hear her sister yelling over the waves.

“You gonna answer me or keep running away?!” she called.

“There’s nothing to say,” she called back. “Shadepelt’s in my way to becoming deputy. If you’re going to label her, then she’s a rival.”

Silverstream pulled herself up and shook the excess water from her pelt. “Well there’s Ivytail. She likes mollies.”

“I don’t talk to Ivytail. She’s so much older than me.”

“Well Mosspelt only likes toms so I guess you’re out of luck for now.”

“What about you?” Leopardfur shot back. “I doubt you’re chasing Beechfur or Pebblefrost.”

Her whiskers twitched. “Those two idiots? Not if they were the last toms in the forest. Mosspelt’s on Beechfur ever since the furball got his name, anyways.”

“Looks like you’re out of options then, too.”

She shrugged. “I guess so. There’s always outside the clan for us. It’ll be never be the same as sharing a den every day but…well, if it’s love, you make do.”

She couldn’t help but cast a suspicious look her way. “Are you seeing a rogue or something?”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” she said. “But maybe I’ll start hanging around the border a little more, you know? See what catches my eye.”

Silverstream turned towards the river to fish, but Leopardfur couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. She’d more than noticed the time she spent chatting with Greystripe at Gatherings, stars in her eyes. Back as ‘paws, Silverstream had insisted that Greystripe was an innocent crush. Now she had to wonder if it had evolved into something more.

At that she shook her head. Silverstream wouldn’t start seeing a tom from another clan. And Greystripe was stupid, but obviously not stupid enough to indulge her.

“Well I think you should calm down,” Leopardfur says. “We’ve only just seen our first summer. You don’t need a mate and kits so soon.”

“But I want a mate.” She sighed wistfully. “Someone who’ll cuddle with me, and listen to my every worry, and laugh at all my jokes, and catch me prey…”

“Sounds more like a servant.”

She laughed. “Well I’d listen to his worries and laugh at his jokes and catch him prey, too. I’m not selfish.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They climbed further up Sunningrocks, all thoughts of fishing forgotten as the warm rocks beckoned them. Even at night, they retained the heat of Hiverne’s eye. No other rocks did that, and to Leopardfur it was no wonder that this was holy land.

As they reached the top, though, the smell of the Thunderclan scent marks (placed as close as they dared to Sunningrocks with careful passive aggression) flooded over them.

“What do you think of war with Thunderclan?” she asked Silverstream.

Her sister was on her side, already half asleep. She blinked up at her. “I don’t know. We were too young to fight when we first took Sunningrocks, and they never really attacked back afterwards.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It does,” she said. “I told you: I don’t know what to think. Maybe it’s stupid that we fight over some rocks that have no prey on them, no matter how warm they are. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Thunderclan’s been so quiet, they’ve probably realized how stupid it is themselves.”

“It’s not about the rocks, Silv. This is holy ground—”

“Protected from Hiverne, blah blah,” she said. “I know that already. You know what would be really smart, though? Sharing it. Can you imagine? An era of peace between the Thunders and the Rivers, splayed across sun splash rocks on the border?”

“How poetic,” she growled. “You’re listening to Piketooth too much.”

“I like his poetry,” she retorted. “And I’m right, anyways, you’re just arguing for the sake of arguing.” Leopardfur flattened her ears. “Hey, if you become leader, would you try that? Making peace over Sunningrocks?”

Leopardfur blinked at her. “I…I don’t know.”

“Please? For me?”

“I probably won’t become leader anyways.”

“That’s why it’s an if, silly.”

With a sigh, Leopardfur lay down beside her. “If I become leader…I’ll try.”


	7. Chapter 5

Soon fall was in full swing. The leaves had begun to drop off the branches and cover the forest floor, and when Fireheart awoke in the evenings he often found that his breath formed clouds around his muzzle and the leaves underfoot were crusted with white frost.

And yet clan life went on like normal, though Fireheart still felt the underlying stress from Riverclan teasing the border. It’d started not too long after the last Gathering, as if in gleeful response to the fact that Bluestar hadn’t challenged their border attack, and no one in the clan was happy. From the whispers he’d heard around camp, however, it wasn’t just Riverclan that everyone was upset with.

“It’s ridiculous,” he’d heard Goldenflower hiss to her mother, Speckletail. “It’s completely unlike Bluestar to not challenge Crookedstar about the border attack—and I’m not buying this ‘make them let their guard down’ excuse she’s been feeding us. The Bluestar I know would demand justice for what happened.”

“Precisely,” Speckletail had agreed. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s gone soft on Riverclan. Remember how she would never let Thistleclaw on the River border? How she buried him under a soul tree?”

“She’s let them have Sunningrocks for nearly three seasons now, as well. Soon it’ll be winter and the law won’t allow us to start land disputes—does she really want us to wait a full year, letting those water gulping fucks lord that over us?”

“The clan’s strong enough,” Speckletail agreed. “We have four new fighting warriors and two apprentices that are nearly ready for their names. We’re in much better shape to reclaim what’s rightfully ours.”

“Exactly what I was thinking. And now Riverclan is testing our borders because they think they can get away with anything!”

“Have you spoken to Tigerclaw about this? What does he think?”

“He agrees that Bluestar should have mentioned it at the Gathering. He pointed out too that Redtail should have pressed her to do so—the clan’s wishes are just as important and it’s the deputy’s job to appeal those wishes to the leader, after all.”

That back and forth had gone on for a little while longer until Redtail returned from a border patrol and the two mollies parted ways before it reached his ears.

It was the morning just a few days after that had occurred and the clan’s sour mood continued to cling to his fur. He’d seen Redtail and Bluestar meet with the senior warriors several times, but nothing seem resolved.

“Plans for today?” Ravensong asked as he groomed his tail. Greystripe was asleep between them, dead to the world. The rest of the warriors den was mostly vacated, though Whitestorm and Willowpelt were asleep curled up next to each other closer to the center. It was a good place to be as the weather grew colder, and Fireheart sorely envied the older warriors for it.

“No, but I’ll probably just ask Redtail,” he said. “Unless you want to do something.”

“Iunno. We could join a patrol together? I’d ask lazybones here to join us but honestly I’ll be shocked if he’s awake by midnight.” He nudged Greystripe a couple times and he didn’t even stir.

“For someone who lazes around more than he hunts, he sure does sleep a lot.”

“I know,” Ravensong said. “I was sure that once we stopped training he wouldn’t sleep as much.”

“I swear he almost sleeps _more_.”

“Maybe he goes gallivanting around the territory,” he remarked, crooking his head to get the white locket on his chest. “You know, looking for warm rocks to sun himself on.”

Fireheart grimaced. “With Hiverne out? That’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not exactly known for being the brightest of the stars,” he said dryly.

While they shared a chuckle, a shriek from outside rocketed them to their feet—even Greystripe woke from a dead sleep and bolted to his paws, all his fur bushed out.

“That’s Lizardtail!” Ravensong gasped before sprinting outside. Fireheart and Greystripe followed.

“BLUESTAR!” Lizardtail was already scrambling into the ‘star’s den.

Anyone already in the camp was in the clearing now, pacing anxiously around the entrance to her den. Frostfur was bundling her kits towards the nursery with the help of her sister, and a renewed tension gripped the entire clan.

“What’s going on?” Goldenflower ran into the camp, Cinderpaw at her heels. “We heard someone run past us yelling!”

“Lizardtail ran in screaming,” Lionheart said. “Ran straight for Bluestar.”

“Is he okay?”

“No bloodscent. Something spooked him maybe?”

Bluestar emerged as he said that, followed by Lizardtail. She leapt onto the rock tumble with no need to call for the clan. Everyone watched her, awaiting her announcement.

“Lizardtail has come from the River border with news,” she announced. “Fuzzypelt is dead.”

*

Fireheart would never get used to seeing dead bodies. At least Fuzzypelt’s wasn’t spectacularly gruesome—nothing like the artful splay of Brokenstar’s limbs, snapped every wrong way by the car that had hit him, his middle crushed nearly flat. It was more like Spottedleaf’s, where at the right angle it might seem like he was just sleeping.

He wasn’t at the right angle, though, flanking Ravensong along with Greystripe with a perfect view of the final moments of Fuzzypelt’s life splashed haphazardly across his features.

Bluestar stood stiff legged over him, Redtail beside her, Tigerclaw across from her. The entire area, which was suspiciously close to Sunningrocks, reeked of Riverclan scent markers. Like Fuzzypelt was nothing more than an example to be made.

“Tell me what happened,” Bluestar said firmly.

“There isn’t much to say,” Tigerclaw said. “Lizardtail, Mousefur, Dustpelt, and I were on patrol when we smelled the blood and markers and we found him like this.”

“What was he doing here?”

“I don’t know, Bluestar.”

“I know,” Darkstripe piped up. “I saw that there was spiderweed here and I knew that Fuzzypelt needed more thread for the bead work he was doing for Cinderpaw’s belt, so I told him about it. I knew it was close to the border but I didn’t think it would be dangerous.”

“Obviously he didn’t think so either,” Dustpelt said, staring intently from Lizardtail’s side.

“Why didn’t you challenge Riverclan at the Gathering?!” Lizardtail snarled at Bluestar. “Because you didn’t say anything, now they think they can get away with murder! Fuck, with the way you handled the border attack, they probably _will_ , won’t they?!”

“Lizardtail, that’s uncalled for,” Redtail said. “Murder is a serious offense—”

“They did this because they think we’re weak! You made them think we’re weak!” he yelled at Bluestar.

Redtail flattened his ears. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?! Everyone in the clan thinks it—I’m just the only brave enough to _say_ it!”

“Liz, calm down,” Dustpelt hissed softly. “I think there’s more to this—” He flinched when Lizardtail spat angrily at him.

“Lizardtail has a point,” Tigerclaw said, looking pointedly at both leader and deputy. “Why didn’t you bring up the border attack last Gathering, Bluestar? A firm warning may have prevented this tragedy.”

“It’s hardly your place to question my decisions,” Bluestar growled.

Tigerclaw flattened his ears. “It’s all the clan’s place when your decision results in the death of a clanmate.”

“I don’t think a show of force would have stopped Riverclan from murdering Fuzzypelt,” Redtail stressed. “This type of extreme attack is a huge escalation—it’s not something that could be curbed so easily.”

“Precisely,” Bluestar said. “My plan was for a swift and easy retribution while Riverclan’s guard was down—”

“Easy,” Tigerclaw growled. “So you wanted the easy way out?”

“I don’t need Riverclan knowing an attack is coming,” she spat. “Why would I put my clan at risk like that?”

“You defied the clan’s wishes, no matter your intentions. And you, Redtail, failed us as deputy by refusing to sway her. You’re supposed to represent the clan’s word!”

“It’s not that simple,” Redtail said hastily.

“It’s looks quite simple to me. You’ve put the entire clan at risk by failing to issue even a simple warning. If you followed the warrior code and approached the attack with honour—”

“Why the fuck should we afford honour to these bastards?!” Lionheart suddenly snarled. “They killed Fuzzypelt! He doesn’t even fight! Where’s _their_ honour?!”

“So we sink to their level?!” Tigerclaw growled. “There’s a law to abide by, Lionheart!”

“I wouldn’t mind sinking to their level,” Lizardtail hissed, sinking his claws into the grass, trembling with fury. “A life for a life—”

“Is against the Warrior Code,” Redtail finished. “Murder must be taken to the Gathering, just like Spot’s death.”

“So Riverclan can claim they weren’t responsible just the same as Shadowclan?!” he yelled over him. “So Fuzzypelt can have no justice right alongside your sister?!”

Ravensong, who had been quiet the entire time, jerked his head up. “Since when have you cared?” he said, uncharacteristically harsh.

Immediately Lizardtail began to growl. “Am I supposed to turn a blind eye when one of our clanmates is killed?”

“You did when Robinwing died!” he said in disbelief. “A-And he wasn’t just—how could you say he was just a _clanmate_?! He was our father, Lizardtail!”

“Well I didn’t see _you_ moping around Mom’s grave after she died!”

“Only because she cared about me about as much as you two do!” he snapped.

Dustpelt flinched, but Lizardtail hissed. “Yeah? And since when were _you_ on good terms with Dad? Last I heard—”

“Enough,” Bluestar said. “I understand there’s tension between the three of you, but overtop Fuzzypelt’s body is no place to let it come falling out. If you can’t control yourselves, then I need you to step away.”

Lizardtail stood up sharply and walked away. Ravensong lashed his tail and walked away in the opposite direction, leaving Dustpelt to stare at Fuzzypelt, ears to his head.

“Can I move him, Bluestar?” he asked, unable to tear his eyes away. “I know you need to discuss what happened, but…”

“The last thing his spirit will want to hear about is the comings of war,” Tigerclaw finished when he faltered. “I understand, Dustpelt.”

“Yes, take him back to camp,” Bluestar said. “Help him, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw stopped, going rigid for just a second before dipping his head. “Of course.”

Only once they moved out of earshot did Bluestar beckon the senior warriors in a tighter group around her. Greystripe took the hint and left, but Fireheart let his curiosity get the best of him and lingered long enough to hear a snippet of their conversation.

“This is hardly a matter to be discussed on the border,” Bluestar hissed, “but it’s clear that Riverclan thinks that because we haven’t taken back Sunningrocks that they have a right not just to more and more of our territory, but to the lives of our more vulnerable members.”

“Bluestar, I hate to bring this up, but Tigerclaw wasn’t wrong about you not talking about the border attack,” Goldenflower said firmly. “Even if it hadn’t prevented an attack, it needed to happen.”

“It’s in the past,” Whitestorm said. “There’s nothing we can change.”

“Of course there’s nothing we can change, but I just want to know the reason. The _real_ reason.”

“I wanted the element of surprise,” Bluestar said simply. “End of discussion.”

“So it’s war,” Lionheart said. “Good. I’ve been wanting more than just a scuffle with those fish rot bastards.”

“Hang on,” Redtail said. “We need to be completely certain that this isn’t just war for the sake of war. And before you say anything, yes, I know they killed Fuzzypelt, but we don’t want to risk taking up a battle on petty grounds.”

“While I agree, I hardly think this is a battle on petty grounds,” Whitestorm said.

“Yes,” Bluestar said, “but it’s best to curb your enthusiasm, Lionheart. I need to remind you that we don’t take serious measures lightly.”

“Not to sound biased, but my son has a point,” Speckletail said. “We haven’t given back as much as we’ve gotten from the Rivers. We’re well overdo for retaliation, and it’s clear that all they want to do is escalate.”

“Exactly,” Goldenflower said. “Riverclan isn’t forgetting. They want territory or they want an answer—we have to give them one. And now we have the warriors to answer them.”

It was then that Redtail caught Fireheart’s gaze. Knowing he couldn’t risk hanging around, he slunk away over to Greystripe.

“Great first month of being warriors,” Greystripe joked, but even for him it sounded half-hearted. “Poor Ravensong. Now he’s lost both his parents.”

“You think he’s going to be okay? I’ve never heard him sound that angry.”

“I don’t know, I think he needed to get that angry. You know that his family kind of treats him like shit, right?”

“No, yeah, I picked up on that,” he said. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t pretty out of character for him.”

“Cats do out of character things when they’re grieving.”

He thought about Redtail, irrational and furious over Spottedleaf’s death, distant in a way that he’d never seen him before. “You’re right. We should go to him, I think.”

“Yeah.”

Ravensong was hunched over on a rock overlooking the river, ears flat to his head. He turned his eyes up as they approached, moving to flank him on either side.

“You doing alright?” Greystripe asked.

“It’s just typical,” Ravensong spat. “Typical that the moment I start getting to know him, the moment I start realizing that everything Robinwing said about him was wrong, he’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart said, at a loss otherwise. “It…It wasn’t fair.”

“It was those stupid Rivers,” Greystripe said, flexing his claws into the stone. “How pitiful do you have to be to attack and kill a cat that doesn’t even fight? Lionheart’s right, they really don’t have any honour.”

Ravensong squeezed his eyes shut. “I…I just want to be alone,” he said. “Thank you for trying, but I can’t listen to you two right now.”

Greystripe nodded, giving Ravensong’s ear a swift lick before walking away. Fireheart shot one last look at their friend, then reluctantly followed.

“That didn’t help,” he commented.

“It’s okay,” Greystripe said. “Mom told me about this… Everyone grieves differently, so it’s about finding out how they grieve. Some cats want company, some cats want to be angry, some cats want to do something, and some just want to be alone.”

“Will he be okay?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” He began to growl. “Those stupid Rivers, though…”

They stopped when Redtail slipped out of the brush in front of them. “There you two are. Is Ravensong alright?”

“He wants to be alone,” Fireheart said. “What’s happening?”

“We’re going back to camp,” he said. “We’ll be talking about what to do about this.”

“We’re attacking back, right?” Greystripe growled.

“There’s a good chance that we’ll finally be retaking Sunningrocks. Get back to camp, though, and I’ll let Ravensong know.”

They must have gotten back not much longer after Bluestar and her warriors. Fuzzypelt was being tended to by Dustpelt and Yellowfang while Bluestar spoke seriously with the rest of the clan.

“Believe me, I’m not making this decision with a shallow heart,” she said in response to something Brindleface had asked. “Thunderclan’s reclamation of Sunningrocks was always inevitable, and I wanted to do it before the winter, when we’ll need every pawstep of territory in order to feed ourselves. So if Riverclan wants to escalate, then now is as good a time as any.”

“Mom, I appreciate the sentiment, but if Riverclan was willing to kill then I think this is a broader clan issue,” Mossflower said. “We should take this to the next Gathering instead. This is a serious breach of the Code, and Riverclan should answer to that.”

“Riverclan will answer to our claws,” Bluestar said coldly. “Not to some faulty system that failed justice for Spottedleaf.”

“No, I think she has a point,” Halftail piped up. “If we take this into our own paws, we risk injury and death. By taking this to the Gathering, Thunderclan has a right to demand compensation—we could have Sunningrocks returned to us with no bloodshed by the will of Starclan, especially because we have more proof.”

“No. Riverclan has had more than two seasons of thinking that Thunder claws are too brittle to fight for our own land,” Bluestar said. “I will not be hiding behind the tails of the other clans or of Starclan, breach of the Code of not.”

“Right. It’s a nice thought, but a show of force could put an end to border skirmishes,” Smallear growled. “Hiding behind the other clans via law? We’ll have Rivers on our land taking our prey before we make it home from that same night.”

“I have to agree,” Tigerclaw said. “Riverclan has only escalated the issue—only claws and teeth will be enough to put them in their place.”

“And we have the warriors to do it,” Frostfur said. “I’ll even lend my claws to the coming battle. Brindleface can stay with the kits.”

Much of the rest of the clan raised their voices in agreement. Fireheart himself wasn’t so sure, though. The idea of getting Sunningrocks without any bloodshed sounded far more appealing to him. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, though.

“When are we doing this?” Tigerclaw asked.

“I’m sending a patrol to move the scent line back over Sunningrocks when Redtail returns,” she said. “They will stay there and lie in wait for the next Riverclan patrol to drive them off and show that Thunderclan is perfectly capable of taking care of itself.”

Like he’d been summoned, Redtail walked back into the camp. Ravensong returned about halfway through his conversation with Bluestar as she caught him up. Fireheart got up to go to his friend, but Greystripe stopped him with a paw on his shoulder. He settled for watching as Ravensong joined Yellowfang and Dustpelt in preparing Fuzzypelt’s body.

His attention snapped back to Bluestar as she jumped up the rock tumble for a more formal announcement. “The cats going on the patrol to take Sunningrocks will be Whitestorm, Sandstorm, Frostfur, Goldenflower, Fireheart, Greystripe, and Cinderpaw. Redtail will take you. Speckletail will lead another patrol with Mousefur, Swiftstep, and Swiftpaw to do an ordinary patrol and provide a second wave if Riverclan retaliates in earnest. Everyone else will remain at camp—we will be the third wave.”

“Is it really going to be that bad?” Fireheart whispered to Greystripe.

“Could be,” he said with a shrug. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Right.”

After a few moments of organization, Redtail rounded up his patrol and they took off back into the forest.


	8. Chapter 6

The cold autumn waters of the river reminded Leopardfur of the early days of her apprenticeship. The springtime waters had been frigid, but Whitefang had thrown her in regardless. They were some of the most miserable days of her life—especially because she never did enjoy swimming as much as her clanmates. As a warrior, though, she could avoid the water as much or as little as she wanted.

Today, though, she had no choice. Not unless she wanted to put her tongue to the blood on her pads. Cat blood was different when drawn in the heat of battle. It was almost a mark of pride when it streaked her pelt. A sign of a battle fought and won.

It was different when it was spilled in cold, hard murder. Now it was all a blur. She only remembered the spray of blood as Sunfish plunged her knife into his chest, and then the weight as the body went limp.

Just a month prior, on the night when Silverpelt’s eyes were closed and the sounds and smells of battle had gusted over the border from the direction of the Shadows, Sunfish had come to her with a devilish question between her teeth. The River molly had never been fond of her _or_ Silverstream, sneering at them in the nursery, driving her own two daughters away from playing with them. That she was suspicious of Sunfish’s motives only seemed natural after all that.

That suspicion was nothing compared to the shock, the shock and then the _hunger_ , when Sunfish asked what she would do to become deputy.

Though she doubted this would go anywhere, especially if Shadepelt was involved, she’d agreed to meet the two of them at the Town border. She wanted to say it was curiosity that drove her to the meeting. The truth was that it was a sense of stubborn competition, as if she thought she could do better than Shadepelt.

Together, she and Shadepelt had loped through the trees and along the pebbled shores of the river, heading downstream towards the town where Sunfish would meet them.

It began to rain as the Houses came into sight and soon after they spotted Sunfish sitting on top of one of the metal tunnels which foul town water poured out of. She was soaked, but unlike Whitefang’s short pelt which clumped and spiked, the water streamed off her chocolate and amber calico coat like rain off a duck’s feathers. Leopardfur envied her for that—it was a River born trait, and not one that outsiders shared.

“So why are we here?” Shadepelt asked. “And why is it so secret that we have to come all the way out to the border?”

“Because I’ve heard whispers,” Sunfish said, “and Crookedstar refuses to act on them, as he refuses to act on many things.”

Leopardfur and Shadepelt exchanged a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Leopardfur demanded. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a cat in Thunderclan who I’ve heard is developing a poison,” she said. “One that, if applied to the claw, can kill a cat with just a scratch. Crookedstar won’t hear anything about these rumours, but I know that there’s truth to them and that with this secret, Thunderclan plans on retaking Sunningrocks. And with how greedy they are, it won’t be long until they take more and more of our land as well.”

Leopardfur’s mind reeled. Poison? And Crookedstar refused to do anything about it?

“What?” Shadepelt said. “But there must be something about poison in the Warrior Code. It’s dishonourable on top of being murderous.”

“I’m afraid the subject of poison is unprecedented, and it’s a death that can be masked as well. Riverclan will only suffer from this creation.” Sunfish’s eyes flicked between them, sharp and piercing. “Both of you want only to prove yourself to your clan in your own way. That’s why I asked you here—I knew you would help me.”

“Hold on,” Leopardfur said. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet. How did you hear about this? Who’s making this poison?”

“I heard it from a Thunderclan patrol, in fact,” she replied. “While I was fishing under Sunningrocks, where no one could see me, I heard a passing patrol involving Fuzzypelt looking for a specific riverside plant and talking about what he needed it for.”

“Fuzzypelt?” Shadepelt said, baffled. “That tom couldn’t raise a claw to a mouse.”

“There’s a difference between getting one’s claws dirty and developing a poison,” Sunfish replied sharply. “Do you know Fuzzypelt so personally that you can say he _wouldn’t_ develop a poison for his clanmates to use against their enemy?”

Shadepelt didn’t reply and neither did Leopardfur. She still wasn’t sure how much of this could be true, but it was sounding more convincing by the second.

“I have a cat in Thunderclan who will help us,” Sunfish continued. “He’s tried to convince Bluestar not to go through with the poison to no avail, knowing how dishonourable such a thing is. Because neither of our ‘stars will be reasoned with, we must take this into our own paws.”

Leopardfur glanced at Shadepelt, who looked hesitant. A fire burned in her belly. If she agreed to this, and if Sunfish told Crookedstar that she’d helped stop such a treacherous plan against Riverclan, then maybe she _would_ have a chance at deputyship. Maybe Crookedstar would even change his mind and give her an apprentice instead of Shadepelt.

“Fine,” Leopardfur said, “then what do you propose?”

Sunfish’s tail curled. “I’m glad at least one of you is willing to do what is necessary for the clan,” she remarked.

Shadepelt shuffled her paws, but didn’t protest or leave. When she gave a tiny nod towards Sunfish to continue, the molly bared her teeth in a grin.

“The plan is simple: we must kill Fuzzypelt.”

She held her paws in the river for so long trying to get rid of the blood that they stung numb with cold. Beside her, Shadepelt looked equally as hollow. Only Sunfish licked away the blood from her pelt like it was nothing, scrunching up her nose as she dug at the bits caught between her toes. She’d congratulated them heartily once the killing was done, directing them to mark the area around Fuzzypelt’s body as an example.

“Are you going to tell Crookedstar?” Leopardfur asked.

Sunfish paused, looking at her sharply. “If it comes up.”

“Of course it’ll come up,” Shadepelt said. “We just…another clan’s warrior.”

She rolled her eyes. “You just let me worry about that, alright?”

A chill ran through Leopardfur, and it wasn’t from the river water. Gut wrenching doubt settled in her belly. Hot and heated with the breath of competition, she’d thought little more about this than the urgent need to prove she was better than Shadepelt. That she would do whatever it took to save her clan.

But in the hollow, silent aftermath, she couldn’t help but wonder: was this to Riverclan’s benefit, or Sunfish’s?

“I’m gonna go,” Leopardfur said hastily. Without awaiting a response, she launched herself into the river.

The walk back to camp seemed to be a blur but the world moved on around her. 

“How was hunting?”

Near camp, atop the rocks that helped shelter it from the wind, sat her old mentor, Whitefang. His white fur had only become more rumpled and haggard from the day she’d been apprenticed to him. It’d grown darker too—his brown points stretching out from his head and limbs, leaving faints stripes across his body. His blue eyes hadn’t changed a bit, though, sharp and entirely too perceptive.

She sat at the base of the rocks. “Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine. You didn’t even bring anything back.”

“I left it with the others.”

“Mm. Did you at least enjoy yourself?” She didn’t respond. “Moping again, ain’t’cha?”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, you are. You got something caged inside of you that you aren’t letting out.” Again she didn’t respond, prompting him to ask: “You ever think you don’t belong in Riverclan, Lep?”

She laughed bitterly. “Is that a joke?”

“I wish it was.”

“If any cat could belong in Riverclan less than me, well, I’d like to meet them.”

“You already know him,” he said dryly.

He leapt down the rocks. His age didn’t just show in his fur, but in the way he moved as well. But even though he’d only grown older and slower, he nonetheless walked past her, beckoning her along. She followed him away from the river, deeper into the wooded parts of their territory.

“You’ve been here for so long though,” she said. “How could you stay if you don’t feel like you belong?”

“Because it’s better than the alternative. Have I told you I’m thinking of retiring?”

She gazed at the limp in his back leg as she replied, “Good. You deserve it. I don’t see what this has to do with what we’re talking about, though.”

He sniffed. “Before I joined the clan, I didn’t know a thing like retirement could possibly exist. I resigned myself to dying the moment I got too damn old to hunt for myself—and that was if I made it that far. I’ll never be able to thank Crookedstar enough for this life—it’s a hell of a lot easier than the outside.

“That’s why I’m telling you this,” he continued. “Because I see you look out across the border sometimes. But your life doesn’t lie out there, Lep, and trust me when I say you’re too damn bite-y to be a kittypet.”

“I sure fucking look like one.”

“Being pretty just means cats will underestimate you. Cats look at a mean old cunt like me and know they’re in for a miserable time, so they take it kicking and screaming.”

She snorted, unable to contain herself. “Whitefang, I’m not leaving the clan. Looking doesn’t mean anything, and knowing I’m not wanted doesn’t change anything.”

“You think you’re unwanted? When Riverclan’s been nothing but welcoming to you?”

“It’s not about them. It’s about me.”

“Hm.”

He brushed past her, flicking his tail over her ear as he did. It was then that she realized that he’d led her to the border with the riverside farm. He sat down at the fence, treacherously close to one of the sleeping cows. She joined him nonetheless and together they listened to the snores of the massive creatures.

“You could live on the farm,” he commented. “It’s the happy medium between kittypets and loners. You’ll still be lonely, though.”

“All that, and now you’re trying to convince me to leave?”

He chuckled. “You should at least know your options.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said again. “Not that living on a farm could be anymore lonely, but I like being needed. There’s no better place to be needed than Riverclan.”

“There’s always a different clan.”

“Not one that has Silverstream. Or you,” she added.

“Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’ll like me.”

“I have to like you. You’re the only cat in the clan who understands.”

He closed his eyes. “I know, Lep.”

“So…when are you retiring?”

“After mid-winter, probably around when Oakheart retires. I don’t want Riverclan to be a warrior short while the river is frozen.”

“Good plan. I’m glad you’re retiring. You really do deserve it.”

“Don’t get mushy with me. I don’t like it, you don’t like it, it’s miserable all around.”

Her tail curled with amusement. It was true; he really was the only cat who understood her. Maybe a little too well.

“Lep, promise that you’ll find me if you ever need someone to listen, alright?” he said. “I know you’re lonely, but you don’t need to be.”

“Whitefang, I’m fi…” She faltered, ears flattening. Finally, she tore her eyes away. “I think I did something I shouldn’t have.”

A silence followed the confession, and guilt and fear shattered her heart. The last thing she wanted was for Whitefang to be disappointed in her. Or worse, to hate her for the terrible mistake she now knew she’d made.

“Can you fix it?” he finally asked.

She stole a glance at him. He stared straight ahead, steadily awaiting an answer.

“No. I can’t.”

“Can you be better in the future?”

Her mouth was dry. “I don’t know,” she managed. “I…I can try, but this…”

“You don’t need to tell me what you did,” he said, “but you do need to look at what you did and try to change things—especially if you can’t fix them.”

Just that alone felt like an insurmountable task. What could she possibly change now? What could she possibly do to even begin to salvage the situation? She couldn’t bring Fuzzypelt back to life. She couldn’t even tell Crookedstar about it. If she did, she would give up everything. If she had so little chance of becoming deputy now, well, she would have no chance whatsoever if this came to light.

In the end, she dipped her head to him. “Thank you, Whitefang.”

They sat by the farm for a while longer, then headed back to camp. On the way, fat droplets of rain began to fall, but it was nothing like the warm summer showers she’d grown used to. Each drop sent a shiver through her, and she eagerly kept up when Whitefang quickened his pace.

Back at camp, she sheltered underneath the twin willow trees which watched over the camp. Their low hanging branches provided plenty of places to sleep and a few cats were there now, dozing as the rain came harder and harder. In the daylight, Hiverne’s light would filter through the drooping branches, dancing and dazzling across the shiny coats of her clanmates.

It was also the perfect place for Crookedstar to speak to the clan during meeting, with a spot on the roots about the leader’s den where Oakheart could sit.

Her heart ached to be the cat up there one day, calling her clan together, knowing that she was where she could serve them the best. After today, though, did she deserve that? Could she ever possibly hope to get it?

“You didn’t come home from hunting right away.”

She jolted when Sunfish’s voice hissed into her ear. The calico molly brushed past her, a seemingly nonchalant action. The glint in her eye belied her true intention.

When Leopardfur didn’t answer straight away, she added: “You worried Shadepelt.”

“She shouldn’t be worried, I’m fine,” she retorted. “I went for a walk with Whitefang to wind down from hunting. You two were fine on your own anyways.”

Sunfish studied her face a moment longer. “Fine,” she said shortly. “I hope you enjoyed your walk.”

Leopardfur swallowed hard as she walked away, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed the interaction. No one cared, but a nagging sense of paranoia made her toes tingle with uncertainty. Sunfish was acting a little too suspiciously, and her beliefs that Fuzzypelt’s murder was somehow to her benefit more than the clan’s were strengthened further.

“Hey, Leopardfur!” Again she jumped, but this time it was Silverstream trotting into camp and making a beeline for her. She stopped a small ways away, though, eyeing her. “You look exhausted.”

“I feel exhausted,” she admitted.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go fishing,” she said, “but maybe we can nap together instead?”

She shot her sister a look of pure relief, and Silverstream slow blinked back at her. She didn’t deserve her sister just as much as she truly needed her. Some days, it felt as if Silverstream were the only thing keeping her tethered to Riverclan. Together, they curled up in the warriors den.

Sleeping away the terrible thing she’d done wasn’t enough, though.

After fitful nightmares of her blood coated paws and the gurgling noises of a final breath drawn, she awoke to yelling. She sprang to her feet, frightening Silverstream awake as well. She barely acknowledged her, sprinting into the clearing just as Voleclaw disappeared into Crookedstar’s den.

“What’s going on?” Mistfoot asked, sticking her head out of the nursery. Mallownose, who often stayed in the nursery with his and Swanflower’s kits, peered over her shoulder from behind.

Another couple cats ran into camp. Stonefur and Rippleclaw’s fur was stood on end. “We heard someone screaming,” Stonefur said. “What is going on?”

“Voleclaw ran in screaming,” Leopardfur replied. “He’s with Crookedstar now.”

“I smell blood,” Rippleclaw growled. “Is he okay?”

“He was running pretty fast to be too injured,” Silverstream remarked. “I didn’t even see him come in.”

Other cats who’d been in and around the camp or in the branches of the willows joined everyone in the water slick clearing, some pacing anxiously as they waited for Crookedstar and Voleclaw to re-emerge. Mudfur had briefly disappeared into the den under the roots, but returned only to report that Voleclaw was mostly uninjured, just missing some fur.

“So he was attacked?” Mistfoot said incredulously. “By Thunderclan, then? I thought they hadn’t said anything about the border attack at the Gathering.”

“Clearly they wanted to take retaliation into their own paws,” Stonefur remarked. He was sitting bolt upright right beside his sister, as if whoever had attacked Voleclaw would be coming to the camp next. “And I can’t see Windclan attacking. Breezestar never attacks without provocation, and I know Deadfoot well enough to say the same of him.”

Leopardfur stayed quiet, listening to the clan speculate about what could have prompted the attack, cursing Thunderclan for not calling out Riverclan honorably during the Gathering and staying quiet like cowards. She wondered what they would think once they found out about Fuzzypelt’s murder. She wondered what Sunfish would tell Crookedstar.

That is, if she told him anything at all.

The clan fell quiet as Crookedstar emerged from his den and leapt onto the willow branch. “Riverclan! The Thunders have decided on retaliation—marking Sunningrocks as their own and attacking the patrol sent to renew them. Ivytail and Sedgecreek are waiting for us on Turtle Rock, watching the Thunders that have taken our land.”

“So?” Blackclaw, a smoke black tom, said. “Then do we attack back, or let them have it?”

“We attack,” Crookedstar growled. “Oakheart will go now with a patrol to fight for what’s ours. Leopardfur, Sunfish, Voleclaw, Skyheart, and Blackclaw, you will go with him. A second patrol will follow.”

Heart thumping in her chest—not with the adrenaline of battle with the dread of what she’d done—Leopardfur found Oakheart and followed him. Sunfish briefly ran in step with her, baring her teeth with manic excitement, before pouncing ahead to run at Oakheart’s heel.

Leopardfur couldn’t understand how she could be delighted about this.

Ivytail and Sedgecreek had safely made it to Turtle Rock. Oakheart wasted no time in plunging into the river and swimming across to join them, the rest of the patrol streaming behind him. Turtle Rock was just barely enough to hold all of them as the pulled themselves dripping onto the smooth, domed surface.

“Are they still there?” Oakheart asked, staring at Sunningrocks.

“Oh yeah,” Ivytail said between licking her tail. “You know the Thunders, using all those stupid plants to hide. Almost as bad as the fucking Shadows.”

“There was a huge patrol of them,” Sedgecreek added. “They’re going hard for Sunningrocks this time.”

“Yeah, actually, they were saying something about murder?”

“Murder?” Oakheart echoed, baffled.

“Yeah I don’t get it,” she said. “Something about Fuzzypelt. I’ve never even heard of them.”

“He’s a crafter, doesn’t go to Gatherings,” Oakheart muttered. “Why in the blue hell would we kill a crafter?”

“All of Thunderclan’s been chewing on twisting weed,” Voleclaw growled. “I bet they’re just making excuses to attack us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oakheart said, flicking his tail decisively. “Taking Sunningrocks is enough to fight for. Ivytail, Sedgecreek, if you can fight, then we go. Otherwise, head to Mudfur.”

With that, he launched himself into the river, with the sleek forms of his clanmates following, even Ivytail and Sedgecreek.

For a moment, Leopardfur hung back, staring into the woods on the other side of the waters. Finally, with a running start, she crashed into the river, joining the rest of Riverclan in the fight for Sunningrocks.


	9. Chapter 7

Fireheart’s breaths came hard as he came down from the adrenaline of battle. All things said, though, he’d barely got his claws into the fur of the Riverclan patrol that had stumbled into their ambush.

“Keep watch on the island,” Redtail told him, nodding towards the rock that the two River mollies had swam to in escape. “Voleclaw went running, and no doubt he’ll be going to get the rest of Riverclan.”

“Okay,” he said, settling on a rock that towered over the river.

This was his first time on Sunningrocks, the sacred land fought over again and again by Thunderclan and Riverclan. Redtail had once explained that it wasn’t even prime hunting land—that that story was an excuse used by either clan to reclaim the rocks when the time arose. In truth, Sunningrocks was the only place in the forest where Hiverne’s eye had no effect, and the smooth black surface, darker than a raven’s feather, soaked up the sun, making them warm even in the coldest of winters.

With the air growing chilly, he didn’t blame Thunderclan for making a move for the rocks, but in some ways it almost seemed like Fuzzypelt’s death was the “excuse” that Bluestar had been waiting for to finally take them. It just didn’t sit right with him. No part of this war did.

He sighed to himself. How many cats in the clan would tell him that was “kittypet softness?”

He perked up when he saw movement on the other side of the river. Riverclan was coming. He scrambled off the rock and dashed back to Redtail, who got to his feet the moment he saw him running over.

“Get ready,” Redtail announced to their patrol. “The Rivers have chosen to fight.”

Redtail didn’t assemble another ambush, though, meeting the dripping Rivers as they pulled themselves up onto the rocks to face down Thunderclan. At their head was the Riverclan deputy, Oakheart, a huge brown tom with yellow eyes. Even dripping wet, he was River sized, muscular, and bigger than just about anyone on the Thunderclan patrol, including Cinderpaw.

“Oh? No surprise attack this time?” Oakheart said. “I thought you were playing like Shadows.”

“I think heckling your patrol was fair warning that Sunningrocks is going back to its proper owners,” Redtail replied. “Perhaps if they hadn’t set paw on Thunderclan land, they wouldn’t have been so surprised.”

Oakheart pulled back his lip, his wet fur forming dense spikes along his back as it rose. “You’ve got some nerve, Redtail.”

A growl leapt into the Thunderclan deputy’s throat, arching his back and bushing out his fur to double his size; yet he still wasn’t nearly as big as Oakheart. “And yet Riverclan’s the one who thinks they can get off murdering one of our own with no repercussions,” he snarled. “This isn’t just about Sunningrocks. This is for Fuzzypelt.”

He tore across the rock without letting Oakheart respond, colliding with a shriek, and all hell broke loose as the rest of Thunderclan eagerly followed suit.

Fireheart met a fresh molly. With her Riverclan size and the weight of her soaking fur, she was slow enough for him to nimbly dodge to the side, snagging his claws on her flank as he darted around her. When she rounded on him, he dove beneath her outstretched claws and slammed his hind paws into her ribcage to wind her.

All the things that Redtail had taught him. He was by no means a perfect fighter, but none of this was anything that Princess had ever taught him, none of it anything he thought she _could_ teach him.

Not a perfect fighter was right, though, as the tortie finally caught him and clobbered him upside the head.

“Fresh out the ‘paws den?” she sneered. “Or did Thunderclan even let you have a name?”

He bared his teeth, even though he was seeing stars. “I’ll have earned it double over the moment I’m done with you.”

She chuckled, claws extended as she advanced on him. “Once I’m done with you, ‘paw, Fuzzypelt won’t be the only one who isn’t going home tonight.”

On Ravensong’s behalf, he felt a rage brighter than Hiverne’s eye bloom in his gut. The molly lunged and though he didn’t meet her, he twisted and grabbed her middle with his arms, letting her greater weight hurtle to the ground. He clung to her, back paws churning and tearing out clumps of wet fur before finally hitting skin, drawing blood.

Shrieking, the molly battered his ears, and in response he buried his jaws into her scruff and bit as hard as he could manage. It didn’t matter that she was bigger. He could cling to her, out of reach, and keep tearing into her.

He forgot she could get help, though.

He wailed when ten razor sharp claws bore into his shoulder and strong jaws grabbed hold of his ear. Oh, but he’d gotten worse from Yellowfang, hell, from _Lizardstripe._ Growling louder and louder he churned his claws into his victim harder and harder, blinded by the haze of catblood hitting the roof of his mouth and overwhelming all senses.

Another shriek, and the River on his shoulders was gone. He let up instinctively, and the molly finally shook him off and sprang into the mass of cats on Sunningrocks, disappearing into the crowd.

It was Swiftpaw who’d saved him, big and muscular as he grappled the big smoky tom and bore him onto the rock. What Swiftpaw’s size made up for was his lack of experience, though, and he didn’t take down the tom quite right, earning him a hard kick in the jaw. Fireheart sprang in to help, battering the face of the River when he tried to worm away from Swiftpaw’s grip.

If Swiftpaw was here, though, that meant Speckletail’s patrol had joined them, which meant that the third wave of Thunders couldn’t be too far behind. Just as well, another patrol of Rivers were slithering up the rocks.

So distracted by thoughts of reinforcements, by wondering if they would win this, Fireheart didn’t see the golden blur until it was too late. He barely got the chance to yell as the River collided with him.

Leopardfur was just as surprised as he was to go flying off the rocks and tumble down an unkind slope. They hit the bottom some paces away, sliding to a stop by a massive boulder half in and half out of the river. Fireheart got up on shaky legs, facing down Leopardfur across the pebbly shore.

“Looking worse for wear,” Leopardfur growled.

He eyed her pelt, and the places where her fur had been torn away: “I could say the same to you.”

She circled around him, and it took him a moment to realize that she was cutting off his escape to the rest of Sunningrocks. With the boulder as his back and the river to his side, he arched his back in a vain attempt at intimidation.

Her whiskers twitched; she already knew she had him in a vulnerable spot. “Did _Redtail_ teach you that, kittypet?”

With a yowl of indignance, Fireheart flew at her.

But he underestimated Leopardfur’s skills. The last time they’d fought, he’d gotten the jump on her from above, beating her soundly—or he would have, if Whitefang hadn’t been there to protect her.

Face to face, though, one on one where she was no longer burdened by his surprise advantage, she handily sent him onto the shore where the sharp end of a stick missed his eye but tore a painful cut across his nose. He took a swipe at her and she bashed him on the head with both paws. Stunned, he tried to crawl away, only for her to grab him by the scruff and plunged him into the water.

A new panic filled him, an unfamiliar one. The water burned for how cold it was, but he couldn’t breathe. Rather, he could breathe, but when he tried he sucked in the burning cold water.

She pulled him up and threw him onto the pebbly shore. Coughing up mouthfuls of water, he hobbled away, half convinced he would feel her claws in his haunches.

By the time he reached the cover of a bush, he realized that she’d left him, knowing that he was beaten. And he was, wheezing out bits of river and letting it dribble out from between his jaws like a miserable kitten throwing up a stomach bug. Every time he thought about stepping back into battle, the first step seemed far too much a task to even try.

He jolted when he heard rustling in the bushes, relaxing when he saw Yellowfang.

“You look fucking miserable,” she said with an indifferent sniff, but he knew that meant that she cared. Especially when she opened up one of the many pouches on her belt. “Take a deep breath of this. It’ll stop the water in your lungs from drowning you.”

Panicked at the suggestion that he could drown even without the river right on him, he took the deepest breath he could of the spicy herb. It made him cough louder and harder, but suddenly it brought much more relief.

She rubbed the spot between his shoulder blades as she said: “The Rivers are bastards for that technique. Remember once after a war with Windclan, the clans almost banned it in the Code as murder on accounts of dry drowning—only thing that let them win that debate was the fact that the rest of us could use flame seed to dry up the water in you.”

After that, she gave him a pat and said something about helping their clanmates before trotting away to a nearby bush. Now that the flame seed had soothed his lungs (but not his throat, which burned, or his eyes, which watered, both from the potency of the herb) he lowered himself onto ground within eyesight of where Yellowfang was treating the next Thunder.

At one point, he might have run back into battle, but he would never forget Redtail’s first lesson: it was okay to take breaks, okay to not take on more than he could.

But that didn’t make it any easier to watch the battle rage on without him.

*

Riverclan’s third wave had come but so had Thunderclan’s and though Leopardfur hadn’t been beaten, she couldn’t say the same for her clanmates. She had her limits too; being part of the first wave meant she was exhausted, and as Thunderclan’s third wave came with a battle fresh Tigerclaw, she knew in an instant that this battle wouldn’t be theirs.

“Oakheart!” she yelled over the din of the fight, slipping around behind a large rock in search of her deputy.

She found him with his back to the boulder, gingerly licking at a nasty cut on his shoulder. He went rigid as she approached, but soon relaxed.

“I don’t think we’re going to win this,” she admitted. “Tigerclaw’s come with the fresh wave, and I don’t know if we have the cats to deal with him when he’s battle fresh.”

Oakheart’s eyes flashed with a defiance that not a lot of Rivers had, a defiance that she felt often cut her away from the rest of her clanmates. For a moment, she felt like kin. Like she’d been born and raised in a clan of star born defiance, spitting at the very concept of weakness or of loss.

Maybe it could have made her a better Shadow, if only she and Silverstream had been caught across the territories instead. But where would that have left her poor sister, born with Riverclan humour and an eye for all things beautiful? In comparison she felt like a creature of war, where only her claws and her jaws were of any point to her clan when they were a point at all.

And what did that matter, of course, when this was a losing battle? She couldn’t even do that right.

“I’ll take him myself if we have to,” Oakheart muttered, then shook his head. “Clan comes first. I need to see the state of Riverclan.”

She followed him back out to battle, where much of Riverclan had been driven down the rocks and onto the pebbly shore. The few still battling on the night black slate would soon follow, as she spotted Silverstream struggle against a white Thunder molly who was much quicker than she.

“If we put on a united front, we might make some progress,” Oakheart said. “Help the cats on the rocks, and we’ll push from the shore!”

That was all the incentive she needed to leap to her sister’s aid. This molly was slim for a Thunder, big eared like some Wind blood had found its way into her, and no match for Leopardfur’s greater bulk. She was battle fresh, though, and Leopardfur didn’t have the energy to do much more than drive her off of Silverstream and get them away.

“Get to the shore!” she hissed to her sister. “I’m fine!”

Always the weaker fighter, Silverstream took no blow to her pride to give a quick nod and spring away. Leopardfur threw the white molly to the rock and leapt for the next River trapped on the rocks.

After helping Beechfur flee into the river, Leopardfur leapt down into a crevice, narrowly escaping the claws of a fierce Thunder. Fortunately, it was Lionheart—while she barely fit into the crack, he definitely wouldn’t. She pressed along it, heading for the fresh smells of cold water.

She exited onto a shelf above the water, sheltered away from the rest of the battle by the roar of the river over the rocks. She pressed along it. There was River smell on these rocks. Someone else was down here.

Then she caught the scent of catblood, and her heart leapt into her throat. The Thunders hadn’t killed Ivytail or Sedgecreek when they’d had the chance, and she’d thought her clanmates would be safe from the retribution of Fuzzypelt’s murder. She’d thought she would be safe from the thoughts that she might have any more death on her paws.

Quickening her pace, she rounded the corner. Across the expanse of rock stood Greystripe, rigid and wide eyed. At their paws, a pool of blood.

Locked in the throes of death, paws arced and claws still extended, was Whitefang.


	10. Chapter 8

Once all the water was out of his lungs Fireheart watched the battle rage. Cats entered and fell back, the fighting always vicious. Thunderclan fought with Hiverne’s rage in their claws—with a feeling of loss to sharpen their fangs and whet a hunger for blood that he hadn’t seen from his clanmates since Shadowclan had stolen Frostfur and Lionheart’s litter.

Yet when one agonized cry rose above the rest of the din, he rocketed to his feet. It wasn’t like the other cries. He ran straight past Yellowfang, barely hearing as she yelled for him to come back.

His body screamed the same and he favoured a leg that ached when he’d hit his shoulder on the hard rock. Past a screeching ball of fur and claws, around a knot of tangled bodies, over a splatter of blood twice the length of his own body. Just as a River lunged for him, he dove down onto a ledge near the river. There he crouched, chest burning and eyes blurring.

The wailing had died down a little. He staggered forward, around the corner and nearly ran into Greystripe’s rump. He pushed past his friend, only for his paw to land in something sticky and warm. Pooling at his feet was a slow growing puddle of blood. At it’s center lay a white and brown body, devastatingly still.

“YOU KILLED HIM!” Leopardfur was on the other side of the body, back arched and teeth bared. “Murderer!”

Greystripe recoiled. “No! No, it was an accident! We fell and he was under me and—”

“Shut up!” she snarled. “I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses, murderer! I should flay you where you stand!”

“I-I didn’t mean to—!”

Leopardfur lunged at them, but she didn’t engage. Once they’d backed far enough away from her flailing claws, she retreated, hunching beside the tom cat’s body with a muffled sob. Fireheart swallowed hard, shooting Greystripe a look.

“Get Yellowfang,” he hissed. Greystripe continued to stare blankly at the body, so he gave him a nudge. “Greystripe. Yellowfang. Now.”

“But he’s already—”

“Just do it.”

Once Greystripe started moving, it was with haste. As if he couldn’t wait to be away from the body. Fireheart tentatively stepped closer, staring at Whitefang’s chest and praying to the stars that he would see it rise and fall, that his expression would twitch and he would come out of it like a bee out of pollen daze. The longer he stared, the more those hopes waned. Dread moved in to take its place.

But it’d been an accident. Would Greystripe truly be punished for something out of his control? For accidentally falling off the Sunningrocks, something so easy to do that he’d done it himself?

He perked up when Yellowfang loped down onto the rock, but from the look in her eyes he wasn’t hopeful. She slowed to a stop right in front of the pool of blood, staring deep into it with an unknowable look on her face. Greystripe had not returned with her.

“Greystripe told me it was an accident. Did you witness it?” she asked them.

“No,” Fireheart said, and Leopardfur also shook her head.

“Then it will be hard to give justice. We will need to see what Shadowclan and Windclan say at the Gathering.”

Leopardfur growled, slowly rising to her feet. “I’ll see that lump of fur ripped apart myself,” she hissed. “Now get the fuck away from my mentor. I don’t need fucking Thunders pitying me.”

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Whitefang’s scruff and plunged into the water. The rest of Riverclan were already retreating, and a couple swam over to help her. Fireheart felt a chill come over him as he watched them flee. This wasn’t the victory he’d wanted. In fact, it didn’t feel like victory at all.

He turned to Yellowfang. “What’s going to happen to Greystripe?”

She shrugged. “Intent can’t be proven,” she said. “So in the end? Nothing. Though it’s etiquette to send him along other borders for patrols for a time, to honour the death. To do otherwise is just mockery.”

“Will he be punished?”

“If it was truly an accident, he’ll punish himself,” she replied shortly. Giving him a nudge, she began to guide him up the rocks. “Go on. Your clanmates will want to see that you’re alive, and Redtail will want to hear what you know.”

*

Whitefang’s body lay in Irves’ Spring, where the water’s edge was frosted with an oncoming cold snap and his longer belly fur floated gently, entirely at peace. Using a rock with a divot in it, Mudfur ladled streams of water over the deceased tom. No matter how much blood leaked out of his body, the shallow pool of water went unmuddied, so blessed by Irves herself.

“I’m really sorry, Lep,” Silverstream said, pressed right up against Leopardfur as she stared at her fallen mentor.

She replayed when she’d found him, when she’d seen Greystripe standing over his body. She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand.

“Do you want to go hunting?” Silverstream asked, giving her cheek a few quick licks. “To take your mind off things?”

She couldn’t even do that, not even if she wanted to. All she truly wanted was to walk into the river and never come back out. Sit at the bottom with the fish and with the denizens, let them hold her under, their arms wrapping her until the fish feast on her flesh, nourished while the river was frozen over.

“We should be back in time for his burial,” her sister continued. Talking, just talking. There was an edge to her voice. Leopardfur remembered, very young, when their mother had died. Silverstream had talked then too, an attempt to fill a void with nothing but words.

“Lep?” she pressed, putting her nose to the base of Leopardfur’s ear. “You’re not answering me. Do you just want to be alone…?”

“I, ah…” Her voice croaked like she hadn’t spoken in days. “I don’t think I can hunt right now, Silvy. I’ll be okay,” she added. “I just need a break from everyone.”

She didn’t say that the break she wanted was some sort of eternal sleep, or simply some way to cease existing altogether. To have never set paw on the world, or in the very least to have never set paw in Riverclan where she could send things so awry because of one stupid decision borne out of…what? A need to be deputy? Because she wanted to do the best she could for her clan?

In a flash, she was angry. All the numbness burned away and she was downright furious. How _dare_ Sunfish tempt her with honeyed lies. Tell her that somehow this plan would give her respect among her clanmates. That it would lead to a better world.

“Actually,” she said, and remarked silently on her ability to keep that rage from her voice, “I need a walk. I’ll feel better by the time I’m back.”

Damn right she would.

She’d seen Sunfish slip away earlier and she followed her scent now. Out of camp and downstream towards town, across the Riverclan border where a thin, grassy boulevard was the only thing between the river and the fence. That, too, tapered off into riverside homes and docks, all shaded in overhanging trees.

Sunfish was seated on a metal tunnel, appearing to be waiting for something. When she spotted Leopardfur, though, her tail began to twitch.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded flatly.

“What was the point of this?!” she demanded. “Whitefang is dead because of you!”

Her ears flattened. “Don’t go shifting blame, Leopardfur. The Thunders had no right taking vengeance—it’s barbaric. That they chose this instead of taking the matter to court is no problem of mine.”

“What was supposed to happen when they took it to court? “ she said in disbelief. “They had the undeniable evidence! We would have lost, and for what?!”

“To save our clan from the poison,” she retorted. “You didn’t have so many protests before this plan. You should know that battle and war bring the risk of death—if you can’t understand that, then you have no place in the clan.”

“This is ridiculous!” she yowled. “This has done nothing but hurt us! Where’s your proof that a poison was being made at all?!”

“I told you. I have a cat in Thunderclan who believed this should be against the Warrior Code and warned me.”

“Who?”

“They don’t want their name known.” When Leopardfur didn’t reply, she continued: “You should be happy, you know. A warrior doesn’t prove herself during peace times, and your skill lies in battle. All you have are your claws, and you’ll never be recognized for anything else.”

She swallowed hard. It was true. She was nothing to Riverclan but a set of claws and jaws. Point her at the enemy and she would fight. But crafting? Storytelling? Even _hunting_? She was nothing. If she wanted to be deputy, then this was the only way she would ever be noticed.

But did that matter, if war meant her clanmates would die? Was it not better that her claws went unused? When she was pointless, the clan thrived, no matter how terrible it made her feel. To change that was selfish…but it was entirely too late for that.

She stepped away. Sunfish flattened her ears.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she growled.

“I put myself before my clan,” she said. “I agreed to your plan because I was selfish—and that’s no good reason to make me deputy. We’re done.”

Sunfish bared her teeth. “Oh? Just like that? What happened to the drive to become deputy?”

“My clan is more important than my ambition.”

She turned away, but Sunfish called her back. “We’re not done,” she snarled. “You’re meant for the stars, and the only way you’ll achieve that is if you work with me.”

She stopped, going completely rigid. All her fur along her spine lifted as she whipped around. “What did you say?”

Sunfish looked back at her, smug in every inch of her body. “You’re starbound, Leopardfur. I know about your dream.”

Panic settled in as she began to back away. “Wh-who—”

“This is the path you’re meant to walk,” she hissed. “It doesn’t matter if it’s wrought in blood. You have no choice. Starclan chose you. This is your destiny.”

Breaths coming quick, she snapped back: “I don’t give a fuck if I’m starbound. Fuck Starclan. Fuck destiny. If this is what they demand of me—no, I won’t do this. I’m done. We’re done.”

She whipped around and stalked away. The moment she was back in clan territory, she took a hard left and began to run.

Her muscles burned, but not nearly as the heat in her gut. Dismayed, she realized that the anger was no longer for Sunfish, spent in the words she’d hurled at her. No, now all the anger was simply for herself.

As she broke the cover of the woods and sprinted across open ground, it began to snow.

She didn’t want to go back to camp; she couldn’t stand to see Silverstream. She couldn’t stand to see Whitefang, his death her fault. She switched directions and ran even faster, until her lungs were tight and her chest burning.

And just like that, she found herself nearby the very farm Whitefang had taken her not long ago, still alive and still thriving. Talking about his love of the clan, that he might retire, oh so subtly hinting that maybe her future held more than she thought. That maybe she had a chance at her ambitions, that she could be what she wanted to be—something that only Sunfish had told her before.

Sunfish. Starbound. How did she know about those dreams? She’d only ever told two cats, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t believe that Silverstream would tell. She couldn’t believe that the other cat she’d told would tell either, though. So how…?

Unless Starclan had told her. Unless Starclan was working through her, pushing her towards deputyship. Had this all been a terrible mistake?

She couldn’t think about this, not now. Her mind was aflame with thoughts and she had no way to organize them. Tail lashing, she stalked the length of the fence, leaving a track in the light dusting of snow that covered the grass.

“Why me?!” she yowled to the sky above. “Who in the right mind would choose me?! Why am _I_ starbound?!”

She knew she wouldn’t get a response. Starclan hadn’t come to her at the Moonstone, as what happened to many outsiders. It was then that she began to believe that the dream had been nothing. That Starclan had never called to her at all. Why would they and then refuse to speak with her, anyways?

A part of her wished she’d just told Mudfur about it. He could’ve told her what the dream was.

She fell to the ground, crossing both paws over her head with a groan. She couldn’t keep thinking about this. It had tortured her enough, hadn’t it?

“Excuse me?”

Wearily, she pulled herself up to face the molly on the other side of the fence. She was tiny—and Leopardfur wasn’t even Riverclan big. Like Whitefang, her fur was pale, but her points, her face and ears and limbs and tail, were coloured. Unlike him, she was pale patched tortoiseshell, with tabby and ginger blotches splattered across her face like flung water.

And she was beautiful. Kittypet bred, from her narrow face, her vivid blue eyes, and her large ears. Not unlike a Wind, but too fat and too stumpy and too shiny furred.

“What?” Leopardfur said flatly. “You know you’re venturing awful close to clan territory, kittypet.”

One of her ears twisted back. “No, I know. I can smell the border.”

“Okay, and?”

Her other ear twisted back. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to see if someone could help me.”

“Shouldn’t you be shut in?”

“I would be,” she admitted, “but my human died and…well, here I am.”

Leopardfur sniffed. “What am I supposed to do about that?”

“You’re a forest cat, right? You know how to hunt?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you teach me?”

She snorted with disbelief. “You’re a kittypet. Hell, you’re even still wearing your collar.”

The molly put a paw to the shiny tag on her collar. Leopardfur couldn’t help but think about how much Silverstream would like something that glittery to decorate her nest.

“I’m not anymore,” she said. “Like I said, my human died. I tried living in the town but…but the cats there…” She shuddered, turning to show a nasty cut in her side.

Leopardfur found it a little hard to believe that some _town cats_ could do something like that, but sighed. She couldn’t help but pity the poor thing. “I have enough to worry about without coming up here to help a kittypet learn how to hunt. You would not believe the fucking night I just had.”

“I do smell blood,” she said tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“I…lost someone.”

She nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. When I lost my human…”

“I doubt the death of your human compares,” she growled.

The kittypet winced. “Maybe,” she mumbled beneath her breath. “Can I know your name?”

This molly wasn’t getting the hint. Oddly, she was the only one Leopardfur could think to bear to talk to right now, though. It was almost nice, talking to someone who knew nothing about clan life. She almost thought that maybe she should try being nicer.

To that end, she replied: “I’m Leopardfur.”

“I’m Sasha. Can I ask what’s a Leopard?”

“Think of a cat, but as big as a human when they’re on two legs,” she said. “The Leopard is a goddess—her proper name is Irves. A lot of cats told me growing up that I have a pelt exactly like hers.”

“Oh, a Bengal pelt?”

Leopardfur flinched. “What?”

“Your double shaded spots,” Sasha said, blinking at her. “I’ve seen cats with spots like yours in shows. You’re all so beautiful—I never thought I’d see someone so beautiful in the wild.”

Of course she’d been called beautiful before, but only by Rivers, who some days she felt like would call a sandy rock beautiful. To hear it out the mouth of a cat outside Riverclan culture…she burned beneath her pelt, ears twisting back awkwardly.

“I guess it would make some sense that Bengal cats were blessed by a goddess,” Sasha continued. “I wish I’d know about her before. What did you say her name was?”

“Irves,” Leopardfur said haltingly.

“It’s a beautiful name. Why aren’t you Irvesfur then?”

“I’m mortal,” she explained. “I can’t have the true name of a god. It’s blasphemous.”

Sasha’s eyes clouded with confusion, but she nodded. “I guess names are important to forest cats?”

“They are.”

“I like that. There’s nothing to Sasha except that it’s me, but you—you’re named for someone so otherworldly and powerful. I think that’s incredible.”

Leopardfur sighed, gazing at molly. As naïve and quiet as she was, she wouldn’t last long in the wild. Not with winter coming.

“Let me show you something,” she said.

She slid under the fence and walked towards the barn. After some hesitation, Sasha followed. With seemingly no sense of personal space, she let their sides brush. Leopardfur decided to allow it—after all, if she was living with humans alone, how long had it been since she’d brushed fur with another cat? She couldn’t imagine going for months, maybe even seasons, without Silverstream’s company.

The barn loomed over them, but Leopardfur didn’t flinch in its shadow. It was very old, though still in use. Its once red paint shredded by seasons of weather, riddled with holes halfheartedly patched. Plenty of places for cats to get inside.

It was warm within. The cows were in paddock now that it was dawn, which gave them plenty of freedom to walk further in. Leopardfur led Sasha to the far end, where the light filtering in the door ceased and cast the place in shadows. Hay bales were piled here, but that’s not what she was here for as she sat in front.

“Listen,” she said to Sasha.

The kittypet sat beside her and strained her ears. “I’m not good at seeing in the dark,” she admitted. “Will that make me a bad hunter?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve heard stories of blind cats hunting even better than sighted cats. You just need to learn to use your whiskers and your ears. Now _listen_.”

Sasha straightened up and closed her eyes, ears swivelling. It was good to see that the humans hadn’t bred the prey drive out of her. She’d heard stories about that, about kittypets bred so long and so wrong by humans that they no longer felt the stirrings of the wild deep in their chests. It was why many believed that kittypets didn’t make good clan cats, and Leopardfur was inclined to agree.

But then, if Sasha were right, then she and Silverstream had been bred by humans too. It seemed not all kittypets were twisted beyond repair.

“I hear rustling,” Sasha said.

“Mice. They’re fat and slow in here because most forest animals won’t come inside. They don’t want to be near the humans or the cows, but because you’re a kittypet, I figure you’ll have an easier time.”

“Will I? Will the humans want me?”

“My mentor told me that they don’t like mice,” she said, voice nearly cracking as she was reminded that Whitefang was dead. “If you hunt here, they will be grateful, but that’s if you can learn.”

“I-I can!”

“Well, now’s your chance to try,” she said, twitching her tail tip towards a rather unconcerned mouse.

She must have spent over an hour schooling Sasha on her crouch, teaching her to begin relying less on sight and more on scent and sound. For a while, it felt like a lost cause. But soon, she noticed some progress. Sasha would see the mice sooner, get closer when she attempted stalking, and by the time Leopardfur was thinking about leaving, she caught a mouse of her own.

“Leopardfur I got it!” she said with delight, the loudest she’d been since the moment Leopardfur had met her. She sprinted over, the mouse dangling from her jaws. “Do you wanf fome?” she asked.

“No, I prefer fish,” she said. “It’s all yours.”

She blinked. “You eat fish?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s amazing. You should teach me sometime!”

Leopardfur didn’t have the heart to tell her that she couldn’t just let Sasha onto clan territory. As it was, she wouldn’t be looked on too kindly for teaching an outsider how to hunt, even if it was just a kittypet she happened to feel sorry for.

“I should go home now,” she said. “You’ll be warm and fed here.”

“Thank you so much, Leopardfur,” Sasha said. “Will I see you again?”

She hesitated. “Probably not,” she said, without feeling.

“Oh.”

She immediately felt bad. “I’ve hunted here before and I’ll probably hunt here again, though,” she said. “So I guess it’s not impossible. I need to focus on my clan, though, especially with winter coming.”

“Well if you need food, you can come here,” she said. “All these mice would never be enough to feed me.”

“If it comes to that,” she agreed. “See you around, Sasha.”

“Yes, and thank you again, Leopard.” She brushed her muzzle against her, sending a shock through her. With one last mumbled goodbye, she ran out of the barn and loped back to camp.

Somehow, she felt lighter.


	11. Chapter 9

The night after the battle was dreadfully quiet. Fireheart dabbed at the freshly fallen snow, which had only left a thin layer across the ground that the grass still poked through. His chest still burned, but Yellowfang had cleared him to sleep in the warriors den, promising that he would be fine.

“Fireheart.” He glanced up from grooming as Redtail walked over, looking grim. “I need you to come and talk to me and Bluestar about Whitefang.”

He scrambled to his feet. “Of course, Redtail.”

He followed his old mentor over to Bluestar’s den and together they ducked inside. Fireheart remembered the last time he’d been in here, and it was still quite a sight. Trinkets hung from the ceiling, now many of which he could name from the elder’s stories: the chipped tooth of the Glutton, a monster that had once roamed the forest; an antler not from a deer but from something much bigger, shaped in a spined scoop; even the broken end of a knife from the Founder of Thunderclan.

Bluestar sat off to the side. Though she looked as regal as ever, Fireheart couldn’t help but notice the hazy look in her eyes. As if she were in another time altogether.

She blinked when they entered. “Has Firepaw made his decision?”

Redtail stared at her, baffled. “Bluestar, we’re…here to discuss Whitefang’s death,” he said. “Fire _heart_ didn’t witness it, but he was present immediately after. You mentioned it would be good to speak with him once he was feeling better.”

Her tail flicked, and a look of confusion crossed her face. “…Yes,” she said slowly. “Of course. What did you see, Fireheart?”

“Um…not much,” he admitted. “Like Redtail said, I showed up afterwards and Whitefang was already dead. I sent Greystripe to go get Yellowfang, and she pronounced him dead officially. After that, Leopardfur took Whitefang’s body—which is when Riverclan retreated.”

She nodded. “I see. So it was an accident.”

“It was. Will…will Greystripe get in trouble?” he asked.

“No, of course not.” She shook her head. “Greystripe has done nothing wrong, after all.”

“Then for court, all we need do is call Riverclan out for the murder of Fuzzypelt,” Redtail said. “Yellowfang witnessed the evidence, and healer’s can’t lie in court, so our case is solid and they can’t counter with Whitefang’s death. We can easily bargain for peacetime until the spring, saving us a war to fight for Sunningrocks when the season’s at its worst.”

“I know that,” Bluestar growled. “Where’s Greystripe now?”

“He’s sleeping in the warriors den,” Redtail replied.

“Send him on a patrol. Moping won’t help him. Fireheart, you decide who to bring—make sure he comes back feeling better.”

He caught a glimpse of warm sympathy as she said that. Greystripe was her grandson, and he suspected Bluestar felt for the terrible thing he’d been involved in. He dipped his head.

“I will, ma’am. Am I free to go?”

“You are. Thank you, Fireheart.”

“Ask Yellowfang about herbs she needs,” Redtail called after him as he left the den.

He gave the affirmative and trotted over to see Yellowfang first. She was alone in her den at the moment, with only Mousefur in one of the nests sleeping off a particularly nasty case of water lung. Fireheart hadn’t been the only one dragged into the water. He was glad no one had died of it.

“How are your lungs?” Yellowfang asked, plucking the feathers from a sparrow as she spoke.

“Good. I’m going on patrol, and Redtail wanted me to ask you if you need any herbs.”

“I don’t recall telling Redtail that you were cleared for patrol,” she growled. Nonetheless, she heaved herself to her feet and walked over to her stores. “Fine. Make it a short one, though, and if you notice anything getting worse you come back to me immediately. Understood?”

“I do. Should be fine, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fresh warriors,” she muttered. “You all think you’re invincible.”

While she looked through to see what she needed, Fireheart cast a quick look at Mousefur. She was still sleeping, so he decided to ask: “Yellowfang, is…something wrong with Bluestar?”

Yellowfang’s tail, atwitch while she thought, stilled abruptly. “So you’ve noticed,” she sighed.

“She seems…forgetful.”

“She’s developing time sickness,” she admitted.

“What?”

“It’s a sickness that often plagues older cats,” she replied. “They believe they’re in another time, and it causes them to mistake events and cats for others. Hers is mild, for now, but it came on quickly.”

His heart dropped. “And there’s nothing you can do?”

“Not much. At best, I can give her something to sooth the paranoia she will start to feel as it worsens.”

“Then what will happen? Will she still be the leader?”

“She will, but…” She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. “This situation is unprecedented. A leader may only step down if they are deposed—like in Shadowclan—or they retire willingly. I doubt Bluestar will retire willingly, and I doubt even more that the clan would ever depose her.

“I will be speaking to her about the matter, though, so you keep your mouth shut about all this, got it?” she growled. “Redtail’s worried enough as it is without the entire rest of the clan starting to talk.”

“I won’t say anything. I didn’t think it was my place.”

“Good, because it isn’t.” She sniffed. “Anyways—if war with Riverclan is a possibility, I will need drought seed. I need to collect that myself, but I want you to look out for a plant with yellow leaves and a drooping stem with a bulb at the top and tell me where you see it. And do you know what Irves’ Blossom looks like?”

“Uh…”

“Fireheart, Redtail said you were going on patrol?” Sandstorm walked in before he could reply. “I don’t know who you’re taking, but Cinderpaw and I were planning on going hunting and we wouldn’t mind coming along.”

“Stars must’ve sent you because you’re the only damn cat in this clan who knows what Irves’ Blossom looks like,” Yellowfang said. “Take her, Fireheart, she knows what she’s looking for. I also need night song—Fuzzypelt’s burial demanded the rest of it.”

“Can do,” she said. Tossing a look to Fireheart, she added with a chuckle: “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Though Sandstorm still made him nervous, he relaxed a little at her humour. Ever since they’d hunted together with Cinderpaw, she’d been much friendlier to him. “Looks like it. I’ll go get Greystripe and Ravensong to come with then.”

He headed back to grab his belt and coerce Greystripe and Ravensong out into the forest. Greystripe agreed more readily than he thought, but from the look in his eye he knew that he was desperate for a distraction. Ravensong too—his pelt ruffled and ungroomed as he, too, processed the events.

They met with the mollies and headed out together. Oddly, or at least it felt odd to Fireheart, no cat called after them to demand where they were going. He hadn’t even had a chance to truly enjoy the freedoms he had now that he was a warrior.

“I know we’re supposed to be hunting, but let me show you what Dustpelt and I found the other day,” Sandstorm said, beckoning them along.

She led them through the forest in the direction of the Shadowclan border until they came to two huge oaks. Between them, cradled among their roots, lay a carpet of moss so thick that when Sandstorm leapt into it, she sank all the way down to her belly.

Soon they were all nestled among the roots in such close quarters that their fur brushed each other. Trapped between Greystripe and Cinderpaw, Fireheart thought he might suffocate in their pelts. Yet it was cozy, and as Silverpelt watched from far above, they talked and dozed together.

“Oh do you want to know what _I_ heard?” Cinderpaw said, breaking up a heated debate about what was the best prey. “At the Gathering, I heard that Doespring from Windclan and Pinecry from Shadowclan had been talking a lot. I bet they’re seeing each other!”

“That’s against the code, right?” Fireheart said.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s _juicy_ , isn’t it?” She sighed dramatically. “Imagine the romance though. Defying your entire clan, the code, and the stars themselves to be with the cat you love.”

“It always ends in tragedy,” Sandstorm said flatly. “It’s just stupid and risky.”

“Sometimes a story that ends in tragedy is even more compelling!”

“I’d prefer a happy ending,” Greystripe said with a sniff. “ _Especially_ for romance.”

“Speaking of the Gathering, what do you all think of the situation with the stolen Windclan kits?” Fireheart asked, unsure how to add to a conversation about romance.

“Nightstar was lying through his fucking teeth,” Sandstorm said. “And so soon after Windclan helped drive out the Kit Killer. Breezestar should’ve shredded that bastard right then and there.”

“Yeah, and I thought Nightstar was cool!” Cinderpaw exclaimed. “He and Newtspeck told the coolest stories. Did you guys ever get to hear about Shadowclan’s story about the owl? Now I only miss Newtspeck; screw Nightstar.”

“I heard she has a cold,” Fireheart said. “I hope she’s okay.”

“Elders always have colds,” Greystripe said with a roll of his eyes. “She’ll be fine.”

“One day day you’re going to be an elder, and how are you going to feel when cats talk about you like that?” Ravensong said pointedly.

“Fine. It’s the truth!” he exclaimed when Ravensong sighed. “You get old, you get colds. Sorry for being _right_.”

“We should hunt now,” Sandstorm said. “Winter’s coming, so we can’t spend all night doing nothing.”

“We should split up,” Greystripe said as he sat up. “Fireheart, you want to come with me?”

“Sure!” he said, pleased to see his friend seemed to be feeling better.

Bidding farewell, they took off now in the direction of Riverclan border. As dawn approached, the undergrowth was alive with the noises of prey scurrying to and fro. Fireheart squashed his delight, stalking towards a bush where he’d scent mouse. Greystripe sat to watch.

“Good catch,” he said once Fireheart pounced, breaking the creature’s back.

“Thanks. Hey, can I ask how you’re doing?” he asked as he tied the mouse to his belt.

Pain shadowed across his friend’s face. “It really was an accident,” he stressed, “and I feel terrible. But there’s nothing I can really do about it, so I’d rather…do something than mope about it, you know?”

“I think that’s a good outlook to have,” he said with a nod. “I’m just glad that you seem a little happier. I hate seeing you upset.”

Greystripe blinked warmly at him. “Thanks, Fireheart.”

They started moving again. Hunting was easy that night, and soon Greystripe had added a mouse to his belt and together they’d trapped a squirrel and killed it. By now, they could hear the rushing of the river in the distance.

“You know, speaking of all that talk about romance, do you ever think of taking a mate now that we’re warriors?” Greystripe asked.

“A mate?” he said, distracted as he scented the air. “I mean we haven’t even been warriors for a full month.”

“But do you have your eye on anyone?”

“Should I?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “you have been talking to Sandstorm more. When did you and her become friends?”

“I wouldn’t call us friends. She’s just been nicer.”

“But she said so many nasty things to you. If someone did that to me, I’d never just talk to them like that didn’t happen.”

“She apologized for all that,” he said. “And I don’t have the energy to stay mad at her if she’s going to say sorry _and_ be nicer to me? Maybe we’ll be friends eventually, but I’m not…interested in a mate.”

They emerged on the river side, thankfully upstream of Sunningrocks. Fireheart knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach going there now.

Greystripe looked baffled. “Like not interested in Sandstorm?”

He shuffled his paws. “Like…ever.”

They stared at each other uncomfortably, and Fireheart felt like he’d just answered a question so laughably wrong that Greystripe didn’t even know how to begin to tell him that. Before Greystripe could say anything, a string of curses floated up from the river. They exchanged a look, then loped down to the river’s edge to investigate.

Because the river itself was the border between them and Riverclan (with a human bridge and a couple of shallow places where the rocks stuck out that both clans marked heavily) they had no problem walking right up to the edge. Nearby, sitting on some rocks which rose from the river not far from the shore was Silverstream, grumbling as she wiped some water away from her face. A couple small fish dangled from her belt, and sat proudly on her chest was a shell necklace, the kind that he’d seen many Rivers wear.

Fireheart was about to turn and leave when Greystripe called out to her. “Hey,” he said, making her lift her head, “who said you can fish here?”

After the battle they’d just had, Fireheart’s fur bushed out. He couldn’t believe that Greystripe was already provoking the Rivers again! But his tone was joking, and the exasperated look Silverstream tossed him was equally as friendly.

“Alright, furball, you want to swim out here and catch them for yourself?” she retorted. “The river belongs to Riverclan, not Thunderclan.”

“This half of the river belongs to Thunderclan!” Greystripe insisted. From the way his whiskers twitched, Fireheart could tell that he only called out in jest.

Silverstream leapt onto a rock that was even closer. With a running start, Fireheart knew that he could make it if he wanted to risk slipping off and crashing straight into the river.

“Right, because Thunders spend so much time fishing that we need to share,” she said dryly. “Don’t you have cats in your own clan to harass? Fireheart’s right there for you to annoy.”

“I don’t mind if you get a turn,” Fireheart said. It was spoken tentatively, though. Greystripe and Silverstream were speaking as if the battle never happened, and as they continued he started to believe that maybe it would stay that way.

Greystripe looked at him, but his eyes were right back on Silverstream soon enough. “Hear that? I’m all yours.”

She laughed at him. “You probably wish you were. How about a fishing lesson, if you’re so determined to own half the river?”

“Why don’t we fish, actually?” Fireheart asked, peering into the water. “It could be a great way to get more prey.”

“Probably because none of you want to get your fur wet,” Silverstream said. “You have to swim out to these rocks here to get a place shallow enough to catch anything—your side of the river drops off too steeply for fish to be there. You want a swimming lesson too?”

The fur on his spine began to spike and he backed away. “No way. Not worth it.”

Greystripe, however, glanced at Fireheart and said: “I’ll take a fishing lesson, sweetpaw. Watch me catch the biggest fish you’ve ever seen.”

“The biggest fish I’ve ever seen is big enough to eat my sister, and it almost did,” she retorted. “Your first lesson is to get down off the stars damned willow branch and be a little humble.”

Fireheart immediately started feeling uncomfortable “Is this okay?” he ventured. “Especially after everything that’s happened.”

“We know exactly what’s happened, Fireheart,” Silverstream said. “But some friendships transcend clan boundaries. I know Greystripe didn’t mean it, and I know we can talk without bringing our clan politics into this. Right, Grey?”

“That’s right,” he said. Fireheart noticed the way he relaxed, though, as if some deep part of him had been afraid that Silverstream _would_ judge him. “No matter what happens between Thunderclan and Riverclan, Silvy and I will always be friends.”

Fireheart couldn’t help but feel his fur spike up when he called her such an endearing little nickname—more so when her tail curled over her back with delight at the sound of it. But he kept his mouth shut as Greystripe shimmied up to the edge.

“So teach me,” he said.

“Oh no, you have to come onto the rocks,” she said. “I wasn’t joking when I said there’s no place for fish to hide there. I think you could jump, though, if you _really_ don’t want to swim.”

Now Greystripe looked a little nervous as he eyed up the rocks and how the river water washed over them at times. “Actually, there’s a reason Thunderclan doesn’t fish. I think I’ll stick to mice and squirrels.”

She shrugged. “Your loss, drypaw. Shame, cus it’s actually the perfect time to fish.”

Right after she said that, she flashed a paw into the water, effortlessly scooping a fish out of the water. She rose up on her hind legs and caught it midair, performing the killing bite without a hitch. Greystripe seemed entranced.

“Ever tried fish?” she asked, twitching her whiskers to get the water droplets off of them.

They shook their heads and she tossed it towards them, letting it land wetly on the rock before them. Both gave it a tentative sniff. Fireheart tried to think if _this_ was against the Warrior Code—but as far as he could remember, it only said anything about _stealing_ prey and nothing about _giving_ prey. He shrugged and took a bite.

And frankly, it was okay. It had a distinct flavour compared to woodland prey—somewhat lighter. The richness was so strong on his tongue that it nearly gave him a headache as he finished his half. Greystripe seemed to enjoy it, though, swiping his tongue across his lips long after he’d finished. Mostly, though, Fireheart wasn’t fond of the scales that flaked off of the thing, catching in his fur and his teeth.

“Thanks,” Fireheart said.

“That’s not bad,” Greystripe said. “Maybe I _will_ learn how to fish…”

“Come by later and I’ll teach you one on one,” she said jokingly.

While they teased each other, Fireheart noticed a body slide into the river on the Riverclan side. His fur began to bush out when he realized that it was Leopardfur.

“We should really get going,” he said to Greystripe.

“Oh yeah, one second,” Greystripe said distractedly.

“Leopardfur’s coming,” he hissed into his friend’s ear.

That got him looking. The moment he noticed her, his fur began to spike up as well and he nodded. “One more second and I’ll catch up.”

Fireheart turned and bounded into the brush, taking the remains of the fish with him to bury while he waited. With the way Greystripe and Silverstream were talking, he almost didn’t expect his friend to rejoin him, even with Leopardfur approaching. But soon Greystripe came up behind him, though, a purr in his throat.

“Isn’t Silverstream great?” he said. “Definitely only the decent River out there. I’d say it’s because she’s not clanborn, but Leopardfur is an entire burr in the ass to be around.”

“She’s nice for someone from another clan,” he agreed. “We should probably stick to talking to her around Gatherings, though. It doesn’t really seem right to meet her at the border.”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Greystripe shot back.

“Jealous of _what_?” he said, flustered. “What are you talking about?”

With a huff, he looked away. “It’s nothing. Let’s finish hunting.”


	12. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today there were two updates, so make sure you've read the previous chapter before you read this one!

Fireheart anxiously awaited the next Gathering. The Riverclan border was mostly quiet, but a few nights ago a Thunder patrol had nearly had an altercation on the wooden bridge, and a couple of nights before that Lizardtail and Iceclaw had gotten into a fight that needed to be broken up. For that, Lizardtail was confined to camp, and banned from attending tonight’s Gathering.

While Ravensong was still a little reserved, Greystripe seemed to have perked right up. When the dusk of the Gathering came, though, he was clammed up once more. Fireheart left him alone, figuring he needed it for now.

“Are you going to the Gathering?” Ravensong asked.

“Redtail said I am,” he replied. “You?”

“Mmhm.”

“And what about Greystripe?”

“He has to,” he said. “There’ll be a trial for him tonight.”

His ears flattened. “I know Yellowfang said it would be fine, but I’m worried. What would happen if he was proven guilty?”

“Exile, if it’s bad enough,” he said. “Territory if not. But there were no witnesses, and most deaths on Sunningrocks are ruled as accidents because it’s so easy to fall and hurt yourself. There’s actually a story about a River who murdered Thunder cats and even their own clanmates at Sunningrocks so it would be ruled as an accident.”

“I…don’t really want to hear it right now,” he admitted.

Ravensong brushed his tail tip along his flank. “I didn’t think you would.”

Heart thudding, Fireheart watched Bluestar gather the clan. Greystripe, who had stayed in camp that evening, lingered near the edge of the clearing. When Bluestar beckoned him with her tail tip, he slunk over. Once she shared a few words with him, she leapt halfway up the rock tumble to announce the clan’s departure.

Clouds framed the moons tonight, but Silverpelt could still see clearly. Fireheart watched them, half hoping they would cross her eyes and the Gathering would be cancelled.

Yet by the time they reached Fourtrees, it was still bathed in moonlight. Riverclan was the only other clan present, and all hackles were immediately up. Thunderclan chose to sit on the other side of the hollow, and the two clans stared warily at the other.

Among the Rivers, Fireheart met Leopardfur’s gaze. It burned into him, then she turned away.

Fireheart nudged Greystripe. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Sure,” he said, staring at the grass beneath his paws. “Why?”

“I mean, with Whitefang…”

“It’s fine, Fireheart,” he said. “I just want to get this Gathering over with.”

It didn’t sound fine, but Fireheart took the hint and shut up. Soon, Windclan and Shadowclan showed up. While Shadowclan stayed on Thunderclan’s side of the hollow, intermingling with their warriors, the Winds mostly remained among Riverclan, refusing to even look at the Shadowclan cats.

Fireheart forced his fur to lie flat. Even when the Kit Killer had been leader, it hadn’t felt like the clans were this divided.

The ‘stars took up position on Great Rock, but even they sat apart, with Nightstar and Bluestar on one side and Crookedstar and Breezestar on the other. Nightstar cleared his throat, coughing a couple times before addressing the Gathering.

“All the clans have arrived, so let the Gathering begin,” he croaked. He did not sound good—in fact, he sounded like he barely had a voice at all. “Shadowclan is, of course, thriving. Even as autumn besets us and Silverpelt has cried her first frozen tears onto the forest, we have plenty of prey to sustain us. In fact, in just a week the clan will be naming a new warrior.”

“Oh?” Breezestar piped up. “And is it one of Windclan’s kittens meant to be a warrior?”

Nightstar flattened his ears and hissed at Breezestar. The clans began to murmur among themselves. “I thought we settled this, Breezestar. All of the stolen Windclan kittens were murdered.”

“Then who are the two apprentices we’ve seen on your patrols? Too tall and leggy to be Shadowclan—and remarkably similar to Ashfoot’s lost litter!”

“You’re pulling accusations out of your ass,” Nightstar snarled. “Of course many of our cats do not bear Shadow characteristics. Shadowclan has had to take in outsiders to fill its ranks—an act I suppose Windclan doesn’t understand, too proud to take on the strength of the outside.”

Breezestar rose to all four paws. “You ask for war, Nightstar? So soon into your clan’s recovery?”

“Shadowclan has asked for nothing but peace!” he rasped. “If Windclan deigns to take advantage of our vulnerability with made up stories about stolen kittens, then _Starclan_ will judge you.”

Breezestar faced Bluestar and Crookedstar. “Then you cast judgement! Hasn’t Windclan suffered enough at Shadowclan’s claws? Will you let Nightstar follow in his predecessor’s pawsteps?”

“I don’t see Nightstar killing kittens,” Bluestar said flatly. “Why would your kittens have lived, Breezestar? The Kit Killer would have shown them no mercy, being that they were not Shadowclan.”

“Then why steal them to begin with?” Crookedstar pointed out. “I think Breezestar’s point has merit.”

“And let’s say it does,” Bluestar said, raising her voice when Breezestar tried to agree with him. “Would kittens raised Shadow for this many moons even see Windclan as home? This argument is moot. I rule that, should Windclan kittens have been taken into Shadowclan, then they are now too much Shadowclan to be returned.”

“Would you say that about your own kittens?!” Breezestar snapped.

She raised her chin. “Perhaps Windclan should have been more proactive in retrieving their young. Thunderclan acted as soon as Frostfur’s litter was stolen—why not you?”

“There was no evidence!”

Fireheart swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. Would there be a fight tonight? And if so, who would he fight? Riverclan and Windclan? Just Windclan? All three clans? He wanted to go home.

“Your claims are petty,” Bluestar said flatly. “You only intend to disrupt the peace. Frankly, you’re no better than Riverclan.”

Immediately, all the fur along Crookedstar’s spine fluffed out. “How have I shattered the peace? Thunderclan made its move on Riverclan land first!”

Bluestar’s voice rang clear across the hollow, even in spite of the Riverclan warriors raising theirs in protest. “We made our move when we found Fuzzypelt reeking of River scent, his body and blood arced across the grass like an example. How can you expect us not to act?”

“Lies!” Crookedstar bellowed. “Riverclan killed none of your warriors—it’s Thunderclan who murdered one of ours!”

Greystripe shuddered from beside Fireheart.

“Whitefang’s death was an unfortunate accident,” Bluestar said. “But what you have done, Crookedstar, is murder. In compensation, Thunderclan demands peace on the border for the entirety of the Snows, and the punishment of the cats responsible for his death.”

“Riverclan. Did. Not. Kill. Fuzzypelt,” Crookedstar snarled.

Nightstar, who had watched the argument in silence alongside Breezestar, finally piped up. “Who saw Fuzzypelt, Bluestar?”

“Nigh my entire clan,” she snarled. “Thunderclan knows what happened to him. His body was found, his throat torn, and the clearing around him covered in River scent and piss.”

“Yellowfang?” the black tom croaked. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” she said. “There’s no sign of accident. Riverclan murdered Fuzzypelt with intent.”

“Healers can’t lie in court!” Crookedstar snarled.

“Come down from the rock and call me a liar to my face, Crookedstar,” the molly snarled back. “It’s as Bluestar said. As for Whitefang’s death—his was accidental, and with no witness to prove otherwise.”

Crookedstar stared at her, eyes wide and ears back. Fireheart couldn’t help but think he looked…disconcerted. Shocked. But what had he thought would happen, killing Fuzzypelt so brazenly as he had?

Unless Crookedstar had no part in Fuzzypelt’s murder.

“I have to confirm Yellowfang’s word on Whitefang’s death,” Mudfur, Riverclan’s healer, piped up. “One of our warriors, Leopardfur, only found them after Whitefang had died, and cannot witness his death. I’m afraid it must be ruled an accident.”

“And Fuzzypelt’s murder?” Breezestar asked.

Mudfur hesitated. “I know nothing of Fuzzypelt’s murder,” he said. “I cannot speak on that. I’m sorry.”

Crookedstar shot him a panicked look, then back at the rest of the ‘stars. “Riverclan had no part in Fuzzypelt’s death!”

“The evidence says otherwise,” Nightstar said. “Riverclan is guilty of Thunderclan’s accusations.”

“Agreed,” Breezestar said. “And Bluestar’s demands are sound—Sunningrocks will remain uncontested land for the duration of autumn and winter, and Crookedstar will see that the warrior or warriors involved in Fuzzypelt’s death are punished accordingly.”

Crookedstar’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Finally, it closed, and he bowed his head, seeing a battle lost.

“Very well,” he growled. “Riverclan will abide by Thunderclan’s wishes—to the best of its ability.”

Bluestar twitched an impassive ear. “Then I suppose the announcements are finished.”

“Hold on,” Breezestar said. “We have not ruled on Shadowclan’s thievery.”

“There is nothing to rule,” Bluestar said. “Shadowclan does not have stolen kittens, and even if it did, those kittens are too old to be returned home.”

Breezestar hissed, then swung his head around to face Crookedstar. “And what say you?”

“Though your claims are not unfounded, I’m afraid there is insufficient evidence,” Crookedstar said. “I cannot rule against Shadowclan, but I will neither rule against Windclan.”

“Then we rule in favour of Shadowclan,” Bluestar said. “Court is finished. Will we finish announcements, or will the Gathering end?”

“The Gathering will end,” Nightstar said. “Shadowclan, to me!”

He leapt from the rock and left the hollow. Bluestar, Breezestar, and Crookedstar also leapt down, but they didn’t leave the Gathering immediately.

Fireheart heaved a sigh of relief. Greystripe was innocent, and the clans had ruled in Thunderclan’s favour. Yet he didn’t feel like this had been a good Gathering. Somehow, he barely felt like Thunderclan had won anything at all.

*

As the tensions of the Gathering settled into something a little less heated, Leopardfur sat uncomfortably at the edge of the hollow. Despite the night, despite the clouds threatening to cover Silverpelt’s watchful eyes, the cats of the remaining three clans mingled tentatively, sharing clipped words with one another.

She burned with fury that Whitefang’s death had no retribution. That he would be in the stars, his murder unavenged. Deep down, though, she knew that this would happen. That Whitefang’s death probably _had_ to be an accident. Yet how could she believe that? How could she believe that a whim of fate had taken her mentor’s life so lightly, so casually?

She moved around the edge, heading for one tom in particular.

“Leopardfur,” Tigerclaw said, breaking from a conversation with Deadfoot to greet her warmly. “Good fight on Sunningrocks. Frostfur told me you gave her a nasty bite, sure to scar.”

She blinked at him, almost glad that he wasn’t letting the war between their clans stop him from treating her like the friend he always had. “It was a hard fight,” she said. “Once you arrived, though, I’m afraid Riverclan had no chance.”

His eyes sparked with surprise. “You aren’t prone to flattery,” he commented. “I’m honoured.”

As she sat with them, Deadfoot and Tigerclaw shared only a few more words before the Windclan deputy walked away, leaving them alone. Leopardfur’s heart began to race nervously.

“So why have you come and made me honeyed mouse?” Tigerclaw asked. “Flattery truly doesn’t suit you.”

“I…encountered something odd.”

“Oh? Another dream?” he asked, intrigued. “Has Starclan been calling your name louder as of late, Leopardfur? I wouldn’t be surprised—I have heard of Oakheart’s coming retirement.”

She winced. “No, Tigerclaw, it was just the one dream when I was a kit. They haven’t called me since. Are you sure—”

“Sometimes once is all they need,” he said. “What troubles you, then?”

She swallowed hard. She didn’t often confide in others, and certainly not cats from other clans, but Tigerclaw had a way about him. His eyes were open and watchful, his ears always facing her with full attention when she spoke. He understood her plight. So much so, in fact, that one night, without thinking, she’d let slip her age old dream, the one sent by the stars.

In the moment, she’d regretted it. But Tigerclaw never told. In fact, he had opened up to her as well—giving her the guidance she needed when there was no one else to turn to.

She hoped he could provide some of that guidance now. _If_ she could trust him.

“I…had a run-in with Sunfish,” she said slowly. “And…I’m not trying to accuse you, Tigerclaw, but she knew about my dream. She knew I was starbound.”

He blinked in surprise. “How would she know? I thought I was the only one you told.”

“I…I did tell my sister,” she admitted. “But she would never tell.”

“Perhaps she did so accidentally?” he ventured. “Even the best of intentions can let slip dire words.”

Her tail tip began to twitch. “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t matter,” he said. “Oakheart will be retiring. Crookedstar will be looking for a younger warrior to take on as his successor—someone he can teach the ways of a leader. The stars have told you that it will be you, so there’s no harm in a clanmate or two knowing ahead of time.”

She grimaced. “I don’t know,” she said again. “I don’t see how I could be. I don’t have an apprentice, and there’s another cat my age who is in line to become deputy and I… I don’t think I can compete with her. I don’t think I’m starbound. I think the dream was just kit fever. Why would the stars speak to an outsider, anyways?”

“The stars know more than we could ever imagine,” he said. “Do not think lowly of yourself. You’re like me, Leopardfur, you tread a path with stardust in your fur. You are the ancestors’ decree, the cat who will take Riverclan to new heights. You are the cat who will rule across the river when the stars pull me up to the place I deserve to stand, like my father and his father before me.

“A dream sent by Starclan is nothing to be confused with kit fever,” he continued. “You knew even at such a young age what that dream meant. You are destined. The deputyship will be yours, no matter the cost.”

Yet she still had doubt. “Starclan didn’t speak with me when I went to the Moonstone,” she said. “Why would they call me, and then refuse to speak with me again?”

“Perhaps they’ve said what they needed to say. Now you need only have faith.”

“Thunderclan!” Bluestar’s sharp voice rang across the hollow. “We’re leaving!”

Tigerclaw dipped his head to her. “Good luck, Leopardfur. Never question your faith—the stars know you are meant for greatness.”

She could hear Crookedstar calling as well, but as Tigerclaw walked away she couldn’t help but continue to doubt. It just didn’t make sense to her. She needed something more than his word to convince her. She needed more proof.

She needed to go to the Moonstone.


	13. Chapter 11

“Leopardfur, did you hear Crookedstar? We’re leaving,” Silverstream said, walking up to her with Mosspelt.

“Oh, I’m…going to hang back and see if I can hunt a bit,” she replied.

“Alright, I’ll tell Crookedstar,” Mosspelt said, waving her tail happily as she trotted away.

Silverstream, however, narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying.”

She flattened her ears. “I’m not.”

“You are. What are you actually planning?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “I…want to go to the Moonstone. I’ve been thinking about the dream again,” she explained when Silverstream gave her a puzzled look. “Especially with Oakheart retiring. I need to know if it was actually from Starclan.”

“They didn’t speak to you the last time we went to the Moonstone, right?”

“Right, so if they don’t a second time—well, two is greater than one. I think that’ll prove it just fine, right?”

She nodded. “No, you’re absolutely right. I’m going with you, though.”

“What? Why?”

“To be your alibi, first and foremost,” she said. “And secondly because it’s not exactly safe beyond clan territory. The last thing I need is Puriv stealing your soul.”

A chill ran down her spine, for which she chided herself. Puriv was a nursery tale. They and their twin sibling, Shanu, worked together, one ferrying souls to Starclan and the other bringing dreams and omens to healers, and occasionally they were spotted outside clan borders, tuft eared and bob tailed and bigger than any cat ever seen before.

“I’m not scared of kit tales,” she growled. “I’ll be fine.”

“You will be fine because I’m going with you.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Tough shit!” She walked past, whacking Leopardfur in the face with her tail as she passed. Fighting the urge to chase her down and beat some sense into her, Leopardfur followed.

The hollow had emptied out by now. Good for them as they climbed the hill onto the Windclan moorlands. Though Riverclan had no conflict with Windclan, the Winds would find it unusual for a couple warriors to be spotted on their territory heading to Moonstone without a healer with them.

For a time they walked in silence, with only the brisk wind of the moors howling in their ears.

“The other day, I saw you talking to those two Thunderclan toms,” Leopardfur finally said, breaking the silence.

“And?”

“Our clans are at war. I’m just surprised you can do it so casually.” What she actually wanted to say was “how could you?” but she held her tongue. Silverstream was a smart cat. She just wanted to know why.

Silverstream shot her a look, though, immediately turning defensive. “War or not, I’m allowed to have friends from other clans. It doesn’t get in the way when we battle.”

“Just…so soon after it happened…”

“Leopardfur, I know Whitefang’s death hurt you,” she stressed. “It hurt me too. He was like a father to me just like he was to you. But it was an accident. I just can’t blame Thunderclan for that. Especially with all this about Fuzzypelt being murdered.”

“You…you believe Thunderclan?”

“I have to,” she said. “Yellowfang wouldn’t lie. She got kicked out of her birth clan for speaking out against the Kit Killer, for crying out loud. You really think she wouldn’t do the same in Thunderclan if Bluestar tried to pull the same thing?”

“I…guess that’s a good point.”

“I just can’t imagine who would do something like that,” she murmured. “And to go behind Crookedstar’s back and put the entire clan in danger like this.”

Leopardfur said nothing, all the guilt about Fuzzypelt’s death roaring back. What would Silverstream think of her if she knew what she’d done? And the reason she’d done it, at that? She silently vowed that her sister would never find out.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Hopefully Crookedstar finds them and takes care of it.”

“Hopefully. I don’t have high hopes, though. I just wish Thunderclan had specified whose scents they were, but I guess they weren’t really thinking about that when they found him.”

They quickened their pace until they were flying across the fields. Leopardfur enjoyed the wind in her face and the burn in her legs. Briefly, she wondered what if she’d been born a Wind. Would she loved running across the grass in pursuit of rabbits? Weathering storms in the long abandoned burrows of animals? She wondered if she could even make a convincing Windclan cat. Their staidness she could certainly appreciate.

She gave herself a mental shake. Maybe if she spent less time imagining herself as a cat from a different clan, she could put more effort into being a good warrior for Riverclan.

The night passed. It was nearly dawn by the time they made it to Barley’s farm, but Leopardfur continued to push them. She knew they could make it before the night ended and they were unable to speak to Starclan at all.

Crossing the road was a little more treacherous. This close to dawn, cars were racing back and forth—all the more reason to climb a tree and give the all clear. They made it across safely, but still a car nearly hit her as she ran across to join Silverstream. She could feel the stinging where the grit it’d flung up had embedded in her skin.

They didn’t have time to stop so she could lick it out though. Together, the pressed towards Highstones.

“What happens if they do say something?” Silverstream asked as they approached the mouth of the cave. “Then what?”

“I don’t know what comes after,” Leopardfur said. She shivered as she peered into the perfect darkness, where she knew even a Shadow’s eyes could never penetrate. “I just need the answer now. I’ll figure out what’s next after I have that.”

“Alright.”

No words were shared after that, preserving the sacred silence of the holy land they tread upon as they began moving into the cavern’s depths. At first, Leopardfur worried they would lose their way. Mudfur had seemed guided by some supernatural force when he’d taken the two of them. However, as she led the way, she found herself instinctively taking turns. Apparently it wasn’t just limited to healers.

Finally, they came upon the Moonstone, which continued to gleam in the fast fading moonlight. Leopardfur hurriedly touched her nose to the stone. A memorable chill overtook her, and she moved to lie down beside Silverstream and await whatever dream might visit her.

For an age she floated in suffocating darkness, like the water at the bottom of the river on a lazy summer day. With no need to breathe, she accepted it. Relaxed in it.

It felt like something was there. Was that her imagination? She called out—for Whitefang, for anyone, until she felt a body press up against her. It wasn’t the soft furred pelt of anyone she knew, though, and the voice which hissed into her eyes was foreign.

No, not quite. This was the voice from her first dream.

“Starclan has no truck with you, youngling,” the ancient voice croaked. “But I do. You don’t carry star speckled blood, but that isn’t always a bad thing.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said. “Who are you, if you’re not Starclan?”

“I am the one who has returned fate to the paws of its rightful owners. Your destiny is yours, likeness of Irves. Do with it as you please.”

She jerked awake, the breath stolen from her so abruptly that it left her dizzy. She staggered to her feet and, with Silverstream’s help, left the Moonstone. In silence, they emerged to the peeking eye of Hiverne.

“Well we might have a bit of bad luck,” Silverstream remarked, “but nothing we can’t handle.”

Leopardfur didn’t respond. She tried to wrap her head around her dream. Around what the ancient creature had hissed into her ear fur. If not Starclan, then who? One of the three gods? But those stories didn’t seem real—more like fairy tales, if anything.

She didn’t understand any of it. But at least Silverstream wasn’t pressing.

They crossed the road, fortunate to show up when it was vacant of cars, and headed for Barley’s barn. The big black and white tom was lying right in the middle of the barn, basking in the beaming sun.

As they walked in, he sniffed the air. “Fish. Riverclan, isn’t it?” he said.

“That’s right,” Silverstream said. “Can we stay here, Barley?”

“’Course.” And then he went right back to sunbathing.

After hunting a couple mice (Leopardfur had never been a fan, but she was too hungry to complain) they climbed up to the loft, out of sight of the sun. There, Silverstream began to groom Leopardfur with long strokes of her tongue, cleaning out the grit and dirt from the road.

“So…did you see something?” she finally asked.

Leopardfur gazed across the barn. Finally: “…No. It was just darkness. Nothing else.”

“Well…now you know.”

As Silverstream curled up around her, resting her head on her flank, Leopardfur nodded. “I guess I do.”


	14. Chapter 12

With the tension of the Gathering past them, Fireheart felt like he could finally relax. The rest of the clan seemed much the same, and life regained some sort of normalcy.

Or he thought it might. When he awoke that evening, Greystripe nest was empty and cold. Ravensong, as he usually was, was already awake and grooming himself. Fireheart felt a knot of disappointment. He’d been hoping to go hunting with both his friends that night. He stood and arched his back into a tremendous stretch.

“Was Greystripe asked onto the dusk patrol?” Fireheart asked.

Ravensong shook his head. “He was gone before dusk patrol. I thought he might have decided to sleep with Hiverne, but I poked my head out and didn’t see him.”

“Where could he have gone?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he needed some alone time.”

“In the _day_?”

“He never was the brightest star in the sky,” he said dryly.

Fireheart huffed. “Well I hope his stupid ass doesn’t get bad luck from it. That sucks, though, I was hoping he would want to go hunting. What about you, Ravensong? Maybe Cinderpaw can come with us?”

The black tom twisted one ear back. “Sorry, Fireheart. I’m…actually going hunting with Lizardtail and Dustpelt.”

He blinked. “Really? That’s good, though. Are you talking more?”

“A bit. Mostly it’s about Dad and…and Robinwing.” He winced, as if using his mother’s name felt wrong on his tongue. “But I’m glad that we are.”

“I’m glad too.”

After giving himself a quick groom, Fireheart exited out into the clearing. The entire camp was beginning to wake up, and loudest of them all were Frostfur’s kits. Nearly ready to be named apprentices, they were each a bundle of energy that was hard to contain. Frostfur seemed to have directed their energy away from her, though, and contentedly watched them annoy each other rather than annoy her.

When Ravensong exited, though, one kitten broke away from the pack and bounded over, his fluffy white tail stuck straight in the air. It was Snowkit.

Fireheart was amazed how much he’d grown from the tiny kit dabbing lightly at Yellowfang’s tail. He seemed confident and inquisitive—and observant, too, his azure eyes catching every little detail even though his ears didn’t move at all.

Though he wasn’t nearly as fluent in claw speak as some cats, he know from the waving tail that Snowkit was greeting Ravensong—and Ravensong eagerly greeted him back, a purr swelling in his chest when Snowkit gave him an affectionate head bump. They asked each other how they were doing, but after that Fireheart quickly lost track of what they were saying.

Ravensong suddenly laughed nervously, signing anxiously back to Snowkit.

“What’d he say?” Fireheart prompted.

“Oh, he’s just talking about how he’s going to be apprenticed soon,” he said vaguely, looking away.

Snowkit looked pleased with whatever he’d just said to Ravensong, though. He turned to Fireheart. “Hi, Fireheart! How are you?”

“Good,” he said, fumbling with the sign. “Sorry. Not good yet.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “It took me a long time to learn it too.”

“I will learn,” he promised.

They all paused when they saw Yellowfang trot across the clearing, heading for the nursery with a bundle of herbs. “What’s going on?” Fireheart asked, making sure he signed it as well as spoke it.

“Oh, Auntie is having kittens!” Snowkit answered. He used simpler signs, much to Fireheart’s relief. “We came outside so she could be alone.”

“I hope everything’s going well,” Ravensong murmured.

“It is,” Snowkit said. “Mom isn’t worried, so it’s good.”

“That’s good.”

Soon the camp was bustling. Ravensong bid farewell, leaving with Dustpelt and Lizardtail, and Snowkit ran back to play with his siblings, leaving Fireheart wondering what he should do. Redtail was soon awake, though, and many of the warriors were sitting around him while he handed out patrols and duties. He walked over to join them.

“Whitestorm, I’d like you, Goldenflower, and Cinderpaw to take a patrol along the Shadowclan border,” he was saying as Fireheart walked up. “Willowpelt, you can take Darkstripe and Swiftstep to patrol the Houses. It’ll be a quick patrol, so get some hunting on your way back.”

They departed, and that’s when Redtail spotted him. “Fireheart, you can come with Tigerclaw and I along the Riverclan border. We’re also going to be looking for some herbs—Brindleface is kitting, and Yellowfang’s requested some milkdraw in case her milk doesn’t come.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great. We’ll leaving in a moment, so grab your belt and be ready.”

Once he did, he joined Tigerclaw at the exit. The massive tabby groomed his chest calmly, but in an instant Fireheart remembered the things he’d told the Stone Guardians and was awash with guilt. Yet a part of him still believed what he’d said, that Spottedleaf’s death had been suspicious, held some truth.

Redtail joined them and they headed into the forest. Once there, Fireheart’s worries melted away.

They started near Fourtrees, not far from the Owl Tree, and headed along the river. This late at night, no Riverclan cat fished there, preferring the mornings and the evenings for their fishing.

It wasn’t long before they came up on the soul tree which hung out over the waters, its vibrant blue leaves still clinging to its branches with no signs that they would join the normal leaves on the ground. Fireheart stopped to marvel at it for a moment. Redtail once told him that the larger the soul tree, the greater the crime of the cat’s soul trapped within its roots—all as if evil fueled these things.

This one wasn’t the largest in the territory, but it was quite large. Redtail seemed to have doubts about it, though, hackles prickling every time they approached it.

Fireheart never asked, but he deduced that this was the tree overtop the cat that had been killed and buried before he’d come to the clan. A cat whose fate in the afterlife had been disputed by Bluestar and Redtail.

“My mentor was buried here,” Tigerclaw commented.

“This was _your_ mentor?” Fireheart said.

He chuckled. “I suppose you know how disputed his fate was, then.”

“I have. Is it okay if I ask what he was like?”

Tigerclaw sat nearby one of the roots, placing a paw on it. He didn’t look angry or sad about the cat buried beneath it, though.

“His name was Thistleclaw, and he was a great cat. One that could have continued to be great,” he said, “but he let grief consume him. He put the life of one cat, his mate Snowfur, over the lives of the rest of the clan. He would seek war with Riverclan out of misplaced blame—and then one day he was rightfully killed by a patrol who he refused to surrender to.

“Let that be a reminder to you,” he said. “You serve the clan, never just one cat. Every cat must do everything they can to further their clan, no matter the cost—even if that cost involves the ones you love the most. It’s spoken in the Warrior Code, in fact: a cat must be loyal to their clan above all else.”

“Interpretation varies,” Redtail cut in, appearing around the other side of the tree. “A loved one within the clan is a part of the clan, after all, so why shouldn’t you be allowed to put them first?”

Tigerclaw twitched an ear. “So you think Thistleclaw was right?”

“No, I think he was hurting,” he said. “But he had no one else to go to, so the grief destroyed him. I don’t think he deserved, after years of grief from losing his mate, to be buried under a soul tree and separated from her for eternity. Not everything he did was right, but I think the punishment for that was too harsh.”

“Hm. No, I can understand what you mean,” Tigerclaw said with a slow nod. “But the stars never told Spottedleaf not to bury him here. If it were so unjustified, would they not send us a sign?”

“I think we forget that Starclan isn’t the be all end all of our moral alignments. Why should they have to come down and constantly tell us what is right and what is wrong? Are we unable to decide for ourselves?”

“Are we worthy of determining right and wrongs ourselves? Shouldn’t something so important be in the paws of our ancestors—or even the gods—to decide?”

Redtail’s hackles were rising, but before he could fire back a retort, Fireheart saw something out the corner of his eye. He darted forward, killing the mouse swiftly. It was surprisingly warm and plump between his teeth.

He dropped it between the feuding toms. “We should keep going, right?” he ventured.

But Redtail was staring at the mouse, all his fur bushed out and his back arched. His eyes glazed over, he muttered: “Stripes in its fur, claws so wicked…”

Then at once, he tore his eyes away. Tigerclaw stared warily while Redtail tried to regain his composure, extending a long claw to poke at the mouse which didn’t look anything out of the ordinary.

“You saw something,” Tigerclaw remarked once Redtail’s fur began to lie flat once more.

“A vision,” Redtail said with a nod. “I…think it was from Spottedleaf.”

Tigerclaw’s ears laid back, but Fireheart hardly noticed as his head jerked up. “What? How is that possible?”

“Sometimes, when a cat you’re close to dies, you may receive a vision from them,” Redtail explained. “This is especially true if they died under mysterious circumstances, and think the danger that killed them could bring harm to other members of the clan.”

His eyes turned towards the starry night sky. “But she died in a fight with the Kit Killer’s loyalists. Leaderless, I can’t see the exiles making a move on Thunderclan—it wouldn’t make sense, really.”

“If anything, they would attack Shadowclan,” Tigerclaw muttered. “Perhaps Yellowfang is in danger, then. They would see her as the reason they were driven out and may want vengeance, and without an apprentice to replace her it _would_ put the clan at risk.”

“That’s a good point. I’ll bring it up to Bluestar.” With a sigh, he picked up the mouse, watching it dangle. “Thank you, Spot. I miss you every day.”

They finished their patrol, collected the herbs that Yellowfang needed, and headed back to camp. The entire time, Fireheart’s head reeled. A sign from Spottedleaf, a sign of a death from mysterious circumstances…

He shot a look at Tigerclaw, who hardly seemed fazed by the omen. Would he really look this calm if he’d been the one to do it? It had to be something to do with the Loyalists. Of course they had to still be roaming around, and would they really all go to the Town and so willingly leave clan life behind? He wasn’t so sure.

They returned to camp just as Yellowfang emerged from the nursery, catching the tail end of what she was saying to Frostfur: “…fine. But I would recommend giving her some time—it was an exhausting labour, and she has first mother anxiety.”

“I understand. Thank you, Yellowfang.”

The molly flicked her tail dismissively. “It’s my job.”

“Brindleface’s birth went well, I take it?” Redtail asked as he walked up.

“Three kittens,” Yellowfang said. “One’s a little small, but most litters have at least one.”

“Is her milk coming alright? I remember Robinwing had to nurse mine for a short time when Sandstorm and Amberpaw were born.”

“They’re nursing fine, but I’ll give her milkdraw. It’ll keep her that way.”

“I’ll go with you to your den, then.”

He gave her a pointed look, and Yellowfang nodded and heaved herself to her feet. “Let’s do that.”

Fireheart waited nearby. Tigerclaw was busy speaking with Frostfur, and the only other cat in the clearing was Swiftpaw, who was fast asleep in front of the apprentice’s den. He crept over to the healer’s den.

“What do you think it means?” Redtail was saying. “My first thought was the Loyalists attacking us, but it doesn’t make sense that we would be the point of their ire. Tigerclaw suggested that they might go after you, though.”

“Hmph. I don’t know that any of them are smart enough for that—maybe Blackfoot and Russetfur, but the fact that they were smarter made them less fanatical.”

“But it’s a valid concern, yes?”

“Why the hell are you taking this to me first? Go talk to Bluestar.”

“I will tell Bluestar, but I wanted your input first.”

“No, you’re taking it to me first because you’re afraid to see Bluestar.”

“…And? Do you blame me? I could tolerate the cold shoulder, but now she’s been outright hostile to me at times. It feels like she doesn’t even _like_ me, and yet I still have to be her deputy.”

“All you can do is be patient. She’s understandably very stressed after what happened with Riverclan, and Thunderclan is now facing winter again after a terrible season last year.” She paused, then added: “I’ll discuss the weather with her. We’re looking at a fine winter, and that will ease her stress. She’ll have better days after that. Still, she’s your leader. Talk to her.”

He sighed. “Yes, I will. Thank you, Yellowfang.”

“REDTAIL!”

Fireheart rocketed to his feet as the other border patrol burst into the clearing. Redtail and Yellowfang ran straight past him, not even noticing he was there.

“What’s happened?” Redtail demanded.

Whitestorm met the deputy, tail twitching and eyes sharp. “We found Shadowclan scent on the border.”


	15. Chapter 13

Of all the places Leopardfur decided to go, the farm was not what she excepted. The night after she and Silverstream returned home, with excuses on their tongues about just needing time to themselves, she found herself heading towards the edge of Riverclan territory with Sasha in mind.

Was it that she wanted the opinion of an outsider? Whitefang, though his experience as a rogue was immeasurable, seemed biased to her. He’d idolized the clans. Believed that Starclan was never wrong. Believed in them at all, despite the fact that he, too, was never visited at the Moonstone.

What could Sasha possibly have to say that she wanted to hear, though? Perhaps that was what drew her. The unpredictability of it all.

Or maybe she just wanted a distraction from the events of that evening.

Crookedstar had leapt into the branches of the willow, drawing the eyes of the entire clan. Shellkit and Pinekit were seated with their mother near the base, though, and Leopardfur already knew what was happening.

“Tonight we will be welcoming two new ‘paws to the clan,” Crookedstar said, “but first, after a discussion with Oakheart and Mudfur, I need you all to hear what happened at the Gathering and the accusations that were levied against myself and all of you.”

Leopardfur listened in grim silence as Crookedstar told anyone who hadn’t been at the Gathering what had happened. From across the clearing, she swore she saw Sunfish’s eyes gleam. Soon, the clan was yelling out in protest.

“But you never ordered Fuzzypelt’s death,” Mistfoot said, level headed compared to the outraged cries of her clanmates. “Thunderclan must be lying.”

“I can’t assume that. A healer under oath told us that the evidence was sound,” he replied, “and Yellowfang is not a cat I would ever suspect of corruption, given her history. That said, I must look inwards at my own clan. If anyone knows about the murder of Fuzzypelt of Thunderclan, come to me immediately. You will remain anonymous and unpunished.”

Worried murmurs rippled through the crowd. Leopardfur swallowed hard. She’d helped sow these seeds of distrust within her clan.

“In the meantime, life goes on,” he continued. “Sunningrocks will belong to Thunderclan until the Snows melt in spring, and when that happens I expect we will have two new warriors to help us reclaim them. Tonight, I will be apprenticing Shellkit and Pinekit.”

A thrill ran through Leopardfur, along with a stab of anxiety. She wanted this so badly—how could Starclan possibly tear this away from her?

But Starclan wouldn’t speak to her. Some stranger in the stars had, proclaiming her destiny her own. Yet that didn’t bring comfort. For all her hatred of fate’s power, she _wanted_ to be starbound. She wanted her name written in the stars. And if Starclan didn’t want her, she had a terrible feeling that the clan wouldn’t either.

While Oakheart whisked into Crookedstar’s den to retrieve the belts, the kittens stepped forward, nearly vibrating with excitement as they faced Crookedstar.

“Pinekit,” he said, beckoning the ruddy brown and white tom forward to rest a paw on his shoulder, “until the day you receive your name, you will be known as Pinepaw. Shadepelt, you’re new to your name but I will be entrusting Pinepaw to you. I expect great things from you as a mentor—but never be afraid to ask your seniors for help.”

Oakheart handed the belt and knife to Shadepelt, who dipped her head before she transferred it to Pinepaw. His tail wagged like a dog’s as she pressed her nose to his forehead, then went to sit among the crowd.

“Shellkit.” The young ginger tom strode forward, confident as could be. Leopardfur couldn’t help but lean closer, ears forward. “Until you receive your name, you will be known as Shellpaw…”

Leopardfur held her breath, leaning forward.

“…Swallowtail, you have experience as a mentor before. I trust you will…”

The blood rushing in her ears drowned out the rest of the ceremony. Swallowtail. Not her. Swallowtail. She blinked at the ceremony unfolded before her, dumbfounded first, then horrified, then simply resigned. Her gut felt empty and her head had begun to throb.

It wasn’t long after that that she’d left. She didn’t know what to think anymore. She didn’t want to admit that the dream had been all wrong, her life goal spat upon so cruelly by the forces of the world. She didn’t want to think that Fuzzypelt’s death had been so, so pointless. That the war with Thunderclan meant nothing. Frankly, she didn’t want to think at all.

When she came into the barn, Sasha had already run down to see her. “You came back!”

Leopardfur shuffled her paws. “I guess I did.”

She blinked. “Everything alright?”

“I don’t really know what to believe anymore,” she confessed. “It’s…stupid. Forget it.”

Sasha sat, tucking her tail over her paws. “No, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

“I…I barely know you.”

“You helped me,” she said, putting a paw over hers. “Maybe this way I can repay you, even if it’s just to listen.”

But did she want to? Yet the words were already pouring out. “I got the thought that I was…I guess you can say destined for greatness.”

She faltered—it sounded ridiculous spoken aloud, but Sasha’s eyes were wide and unblinking, encouraging her to continue. With a deep sigh, Leopardfur sat down as well and took a second to gather her thoughts.

“When I was a kitten, not long after my mother died, I had a dream,” she said. “It was the forest calling me. I could feel the woodland breeze through my fur, the rush of the river as it cradled me.” She snorted. “I can’t believe I’m describing it like that.”

“I think it’s sounds pretty. I’ve never heard a cat talk like that before.”

She laughed awkwardly. “A lot of Riverclan cats talk like that. They call it poetry.”

“I like it.”

Spurred forward, she started recounting her dream with a little more confidence. “And it was very sudden—I found myself in a clearing bathed in moonlight. At the other end was a huge silver tree, no leaves but its bark shimmered. It was a soul tree, the biggest I’ll ever see.

“And this cat with no fur started talking to me. I don’t remember a lot of what they said, but I remember it sent a chill down my spine. They gave me the sense that something terrible and beautiful was about to happen, if that makes sense, and that I could have a part in it.

“I guess I took that last part a little too much to heart. I joined Riverclan and from the moment I could understand, I wanted to be deputy and then leader. I thought I was meant for it.”

“Why can’t you be?” Sasha asked, cocking her head.

“Our deputy right now is retiring. Our leader, Crookedstar—whoever he chooses as his new deputy will become the next leader because he’s getting old. I can’t be chosen though because I don’t have an apprentice, a cat to train, and the oldest kittens are still a good two months from starting their training.

“So I’ve lost out,” she finished. “I’m never going to be leader. I’ve lost my chance.”

“I’m sorry,” Sasha said. “You trained me to hunt and did a really good job at that. Would that count, maybe?”

Leopardfur snorted. “No. That barely even scratches the surface of warrior training.”

“What else do you learn?”

“Well, about Starclan, about the denizens and gods and myths. How to fight, how to hunt, how to swim…”

“How to _swim_?”

“In the river, yes.” Sasha looked horrified and she couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s how I felt when I first joined Riverclan too. Once you get used to it, though…I love swimming. It’s calming.”

Sasha briefly looked torn. “I want to help you teach someone, but I don’t know if I can _swim_ …”

“It’s fine, Sasha. I don’t think Crookedstar would accept me training a loner clan secrets as a viable mentorship.”

“Well…you could teach me other things,” she ventured. “Like you could tell me more about the clan? It sounds interesting. Is it just a bunch of you living together?”

She must have spent hours telling Sasha about clan life—perhaps more than she should. It was remarkably easy to talk to her, though, and Sasha was always eager to listen. Especially when she started telling her about the clan’s myths and stories.

“What about humans?” she asked after a time. They’d made a few circles around the paddock outside the barn, now, stretching their legs as they spoke. “Do you have any stories about humans?”

“Humans are…temptation,” Leopardfur finally settled on. She leapt up onto fence and Sasha joined her, where they watched the coming sunrise together. “Humans exist to tempt loyal cats with the warm life of a kittypet. They coerce us to give up the hunt, to abandon our clans and our culture, for a lonely life pent up in their homes.

“They remind us to stay true to our clans and remember what’s important to us and what’s important to being a cat, and that it isn’t something that we can’t just give up even though the life would be easy.

“There’s tons of stories I can tell you about them—about a Riverclan warrior tempted by kittypet life, but who learned the truth of a warrior and returned to his clan. About clans being decimated because so many cats were tempted by the humans. About how they seek to destroy us by tempting us away from who we are with food and warmth.”

“So they’re all bad,” Sasha said, almost seeming disappointed.

“Don’t you feel better, being out here?” Leopardfur prompted. “The wild’s in your blood too. It’s why you learned to hunt so easily.”

“But I liked my human,” she said. “I think being a house cat and being a wild cat are just two different types of happiness. What’s wrong with a cat that just wants to be happy?”

“What’s wrong is that they’re defying their very identity,” she insisted. “You aren’t truly a cat until you’ve tasted the wild.”

“Maybe some cats don’t need to be true. Maybe they’re happy enough being fake.”

“That’s—no.” She shook her head fiercely. “That’s a terrible existence, Sasha, living a lie. Cats belong in the wild.”

“I’m sorry, Leopardfur, but I can’t agree with you. I like humans and I like living near them. Your life is interesting and full of adventure, but I don’t want adventure. The barn is good enough for me.”

For a moment, Leopardfur felt crushing disappointment. But what had she expected? To one day welcome Sasha into the clan? She tried to berate herself, but the painful feeling of rejection wouldn’t leave.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” she said, more for herself than for Sasha.

She brightened. “Does that mean you’ll come back?”

“I…yeah. I think I will,” she said without really thinking about what that meant. Already she’d wasted away an entire night just talking with Sasha, and she intended to waste more?

Sasha gave her a friendly head bump. “Good. I would like to hear about more clan stuff. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I will change my mind!”

Leopardfur relaxed into her touch. “Maybe you will.”


	16. Chapter 14

The Shadowclan scents were faint. There was no evidence of prey stealing, so Bluestar tentatively let them go—but not without telling the clan to keep an eye out along the border. Days later, though, the clan was still abuzz about it.

“I still can’t believe it!” Cinderpaw was saying to Swiftpaw. “The gall of them! We _helped_ them!”

“Nightstar did seem pretty shady once he got a little bit of power,” Swiftpaw pointed out.

Fireheart lay nearby, gnawing on a squirrel fat with fall time stores. The two had been back and forth about the matter of the Shadow scents for some time now. He had other things to think about, though. He couldn’t get his mind off of the omen Redtail had received.

His old mentor seemed thoroughly convinced that the scents were not from Shadowclan but from the Loyalists, thinking that Spottedleaf’s warning pointed to them. Fireheart couldn’t help but wonder if it went deeper than that. Claws so wicked could easily be Shadowclan, but stripes? He doubted all the Loyalists were tabbies.

But he did know one tabby with wicked sharp claws, and that same tabby had had a suspiciously heated argument with Spottedleaf not a day before her death.

Yet he still felt crazy for even thinking it. He tried to blot it out of his mind more than anything, forget that he’d ever thought of something so impossible. Even if it had merit, what could he do about it? Certainly not tell anyone—every cat in the clan respected Tigerclaw nearly as much as they respected Bluestar, Yellowfang, and Redtail. No one would want to hear about his theories.

It didn’t help that Greystripe was still missing and Ravensong spent all his time with his brothers. He didn’t have many cats to spend time with, leaving him more and more to the demons in his head.

“Wow, it’s snowing a lot tonight, huh?” Cinderpaw suddenly said.

It was. It’d been snowing lightly since the night before, but now with morning slowly approaching, it had grown thick and heavy. The parts of the clearing exposed to the sky above were piled high with fallen snow, more snow than Fireheart had ever seen before. He had to admit, once there was this much of it, he wasn’t a fan.

“It is,” Goldenflower answered, walking up to the apprentices. “And you’ll be joining me in it. We’re going hunting. Fireheart, would you like to join us? You look bored.”

He glanced down at the half-eaten squirrel. “Sure. Want the rest, Swiftpaw?”

The young tom eagerly took his prey and he joined the mollies while Goldenflower spoke seriously to Cinderpaw.

“Now it isn’t cold out,” she said, “but the cold isn’t always the most dangerous parts of the Snows—it’s getting wet. This goes for you, too, Fireheart. Our fur isn’t made to keep out water like the Rivers, so when it snows in warm weather like this you’re the most at risk. We will all need to get pelts from Yellowfang to help keep the snow from melting into our fur.”

“Pelts?” Fireheart echoed.

“Rabbit, mostly. One raccoon, and a couple deer, but their pelts will help keep you warm and dry. Once it’s truly cold, though, you’ll need drought seed to keep you from getting a chill.”

“This is so much to remember,” Cinderpaw whined.

“And you’re smart enough to remember it just fine,” she shot back. “I also need to tell the two of you that the moment you notice you may have fluid in your lungs, you must tell Yellowfang. It’s important to quarantine potential illness as soon as possible. Sniffles are fine, though—often the cold itself will be the cause of that.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Go get three pelts now and we’ll meet you by the entrance,” she said.

He trotted off to the healer’s den.

“Busy?” he asked, noticing how Yellowfang fervently counted herbs. As the weather grew colder, she seemed to rest less and less.

“With the Snows coming? Always,” she growled. “What are you in here for? I’m leaving soon; I need to prepare for the half-moon meeting.”

“Pelts to stay warm.”

She nodded to where they were kept. Once Goldenflower showed him how to put it on, they headed out towards the Shadowclan border.

Having never hunted in the snow before, it was a learning curve. Some of the bushes still had enough leaves, but his brief time of having camouflage in the brush was coming to an end. His dark pelt was especially stark against the snow. Cinderpaw’s, on the other hand, was pale enough that she had far less trouble, even nabbing a few mice.

“Can’t believe I’m a better hunter than a warrior!” she remarked, looking at the single, sad mouse he’d managed to catch.

“This is my first time in the snow,” he protested. “My fur is too dark.”

“Well it’s _my_ first time too and _I’m_ not having an issue.”

“Your fur is pale grey.”

“Bickering doesn’t catch prey,” Goldenflower interjected, though her whiskers trembled with amusement. “We should see if we can find anything else before we go back.”

As those words left her mouth, Tigerclaw ran from the bushes, ears back and eyes wide.

“Goldenflower!” he said, out of breath from his run. “Do you know where Redtail is?”

Her fur began to bush out. “No, my love, what’s happened?”

“Shadowclan traces on our land,” he said. “He needs to see the evidence before the snow machine wipes it away.”

“Alright, I’ll run back to camp while you keep looking,” she said. “Where is it?”

“Near the place where it meets Town. I need a witness and it’ll help our case at the next Gathering if Redtail or Bluestar sees it. There were prey scraps, and that’s grounds for war.”

“Right. You two, keep up the hunt,” she said to Fireheart and Cinderpaw. “It shouldn’t take too long to find someone.”

“Okay,” Fireheart said, barely getting it out before both Goldenflower and Tigerclaw whisked away into the bushes. He turned to Cinderpaw. “Let’s go towards the Town anyways. Redtail mentioned it’s been awhile since anyone hunted there.”

Cinderpaw followed him. “Shouldn’t someone see the evidence? So even if Redtail doesn’t see it, at least _someone_ did and can back up Tigerclaw’s word?”

“I don’t know. Goldenflower told us to hunt, though, so we probably shouldn’t worry about it.”

She flicked her tail, looking a little annoyed. “Okay, well, let’s split up. I don’t want you messing up my hunt with your clumsy paws,” she added, tail curling.

He swatted at her ear. “Jerk. Fine. Once I get something, though, I’m coming to get you.”

“Great, I’ll have plenty of time.”

He didn’t think that maybe he shouldn’t let an apprentice hunt alone until she was gone, but he assured himself that Cinderpaw was well on her way to becoming a warrior. She probably hunted more often without Goldenflower than she did with her. The thought was completely out of his head by the time he spotted a mouse, deciding he would need to prove to Cinderpaw that he could hunt just fine in the snow.

Once he’d tied it to his belt, he looked around for another. If he got _two_ before finding Cinderpaw, she would have no excuse to tease him…

_You should go, Fireheart._

He stopped, fur bushing out. It’d been awhile since the Stone Guardians had spoken to him. So long that he’d almost begun to wonder if they had lost interest in him.

“Go where?” he asked out loud, fur prickling at the ominous tone.

But they didn’t respond. He circled in place, wracking his brain for what they could possibly be talking about, when he realized…

“The road!” he gasped. Why hadn’t he realized? Of course Cinderpaw would go see the evidence!

He sprinted through the woods towards the Shadowclan border, dread filling his belly and weighing him down. Had something happened to her? Why else would the Stone Guardians warn him?

“Cinderpaw!” he yelled as he reached the road. His fur stood on end as he skidded to a halt in front of the massive hill of snow which now bordered the road. How had this gotten here? His pelt itched as he ran along it, heading towards Town and yelling for Cinderpaw louder and louder.

_There._

He skidded to a halt even though he couldn’t see a thing, but he had a horrible suspicion of where she might be. His eyes scanned the snow bank, cursing Cinderpaw’s grey pelt and desperately hoping that he wasn’t missing her.

Then he saw it. A paw sticking out of the snow. He ran over and began digging without a thought, moving heavy, sticky snow as fast as he could until he freed Cinderpaw’s face.

She gasped and cried, sucking in air as fast as she could. He frantically licked the snow away from her face, and she opened her eyes. Her pupils were huge.

“F-Fireheart?” she croaked.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he said, voice shaking with relief. “Just wait and I’ll get you out. You’re going to be okay.”

He grasped her scuff in his jaws, but the moment he began to pull she squealed in pain. “STOP! Please stop!” she wailed.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he said. “I’ll just dig you out. Just wait.”

“Okay,” she whimpered. “It-It’s my leg, Fireheart. It hurts so bad. I-I think—”

He gave her ear a lick. “You’re going to be okay. I’ll get you out.”

It was all he could say, really. He was terrified and guilty. How badly was she hurt? What if he hadn’t gotten here in time? Maybe this was his fault to begin with. He was the warrior in charge of her, how could he let her hunt on her own and get hurt like this? Ravensong had told him the Snows were dangerous. _Goldenflower_ had told him the Snows were dangerous. Almost a warrior or not, he never should have let Cinderpaw go off on her own.

He cursed when his paws hit something tough. Moving more slowly, he pulled the snow back to reveal a heavy tree branch on top of Cinderpaw’s leg. He stared at it, numb. How could he possibly move this by himself?

And worse, Cinderpaw was beginning to shiver. Even with the pelt covering her, her fur was drenched. “Fireheart?” she croaked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed. “There’s a branch and—Cinderpaw, I don’t know what to do.”

She blinked at him, eyes hazy and glazed with pain. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can go get help and I’ll wait.”

“No, I can’t—”

“I’ll just take a nap.”

Her eyes closed and in a panic he smacked her lightly on the face. “Don’t sleep!” he snapped angrily.

“It hurts though,” she whined. “If I sleep…”

“ _Don’t sleep_ ,” he snarled. “I’ll… I’ll figure something out. Just give me a second.”

He trotted away from her, first heading in the direction of camp in hopes of meeting Redtail on his way. The longer that took, though, the more anxious he got. He swung towards the Houses instead.

“HELP!” he yelled. “SOMEONE HELP!”

It felt like he was screaming into the frigid air for ages when finally the bushes rustled. He stared in shock when Princess slid into the clearing.

“It _is_ you yelling,” she said, eyes wide. “What the fuck is going on, Rusty?”

“Come with me!”

He turned and sprinted into the trees without explanation, and for a single, dreadful moment he feared Princess wouldn’t bother. When he stole a look over his shoulder, though, he saw her keeping pace, navigating the woods with shocking ease.

Soon, they had returned to Cinderpaw. He rushed over, covering her face in licks until she swatted him away weakly.

“I have help,” he panted.

“Then help me,” she snapped.

“What is this?” Princess said warily.

“Just help me get her out,” he pleaded. “She’s my clanmate, Princess, _please.”_

She looked over the situation, then nodded once. “You’re bigger, so see if you can push the branch off of her. I’ll try to dig her out.”

“Who…are you?” Cinderpaw asked Princess while they began their work.

“The molly who’s going to save your ass,” she retorted.

Finally, after what felt like seasons of work, Princess took Cinderpaw by the scruff and pulled her out of the snowbank. She cried as she was tugged free, her leg twisted and broken from the weight of the branch, but she was _free_.

“There,” Princess said.

“Please help me take her back,” he said. “She’s too big, I can’t do it alone.”

She narrowed her eyes, but nodded. “Only because it’s you,” she said.

To his shock, Princess rose onto her hind legs as gracefully as any forest cat to help pick up Cinderpaw. He didn’t question that, though, nor even how she walked with strength and confidence as they slowly made their way back to camp. The entire time, Princess’s eyes scanned the trees around them warily. Fireheart didn’t know what to say to comfort her, so he settled for nothing.

Time crawled by as they reached the top of the ravine. Fireheart told Princess to follow his pawsteps as he showed her the safest way down. Cinderpaw’s breaths came quick and shallow.

“Cinderpaw?!” Mossflower met them at the entrance to the camp, all her grey fur standing on end. She didn’t even notice Princess as her big yellow eyes searched Fireheart’s face. “What happened?!”

“S-She—” But his voice caught, and he said nothing.

“The snow machine went by and she was caught in the snow bank,” Princess replied instead, calm as could be. “She’s very lucky Rusty and I were there to dig her out. Though with the state of her leg…”

Mossflower stared at her, a question on her tongue. Fireheart interrupted: “Mossflower, is Yellowfang still here? Cinderpaw needs help.”

She gave a quick shake of her head. “No, she’s left. Take Cinderpaw to her den, though. Swiftstep!” she yelled, running over to the warriors’ den.

“What den is this?” Princess asked as they took Cinderpaw into Yellowfang’s den and helped settle her in the moss.

While Fireheart peeled away the soaking wet pelt, he replied, “It’s—It’s our healer’s den.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Healer?”

“She can help Cinderpaw,” he stressed. “That’s all that matters.”

Princess flicked an ear and said nothing, surveying the den while he began to get the water out of Cinderpaw’s thick pelt. She was barely lucid, but when she felt him begin to lap at her fur she gave a weak purr, not from comfort but of a kitten’s silent plea not to be left alone. Chest split with agony, he settled closer to her, refusing to let her feel like she was alone.

“I heard Cinderpaw was injured?” He looked up at Smallear, of all cats, as he entered the den on unsteady feet. The elder shot Princess a wary look, and she returned it wholeheartedly, before moving into Cinderpaw’s nest. “I’ll keep her warm and get her dry,” he rasped. “Bluestar and Redtail will want to know what happened.”

“B-But…”

“Regardless of whether you’re with her or not, what happens will happen,” he stressed. “Go.”

Shooting a look at Princess, he led her out of the den to sit in camp instead. By now, much of the clan was in the clearing, murmuring among themselves. Many of those whispers were about “Fireheart’s kittypet helper,” and when they spotted Princess many of them stared at her unapologetically.

“Maybe you should go,” he whispered to her.

She sat down and wrapped her tail neatly around her paws, keeping her chin high and her eyes straight. “No,” she said, “I would like to meet this Bluestar and Redtail.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but even though he didn’t see Princess much these days, he knew that was an argument he wouldn’t win. He kept his mouth shut, letting the clan stare at them and wondering for how many weeks after this would he keep getting comments.

Which seemed such a trivial concern in face of the terrible accident Cinderpaw had suffered.

And of course, of all the cats to walk up first, it was Darkstripe, his tail high in the air. “That’s a pretty collar you got on,” he said with a hint of a sneer. “Your owner pick that out for you?”

She eyed him over. “Bold words for what looks like an escaped fixture of human opulence,” she said. “Did you know pelts like those were force bred into cats by human hands? It betrays your background, half-breed.”

His lip curled. “At least I’m out here.”

“Out here among cultish savages,” she finished for him.

“Princess, shut up,” Fireheart hissed.

“If your friends insist on starting fights, Rusty, then I’ll be the one finishing them,” she replied curtly.

“Oh? She’s one of your kittypet friends then?” Darkstripe said flatly. “Why am I not surprised?”

“She’s my sister,” he said. “Don’t you have somewhere helpful to be? Or are you even capable of it?”

“I’d watch your tongue after letting an apprentice get hurt _and_ letting a kittypet into camp,” he said, walking past with an annoying flick of his tail across Fireheart’s cheek.

“I see the appeal,” Princess said sarcastically. “Let me guess, they make you sleep in the ravine as well.”

“Drop it,” he all but snarled.

Fortunately, she did.

Soon, Redtail and Bluestar hurried into the camp, followed by Tigerclaw, Goldenflower, and Mossflower. Bluestar took two steps towards the healer’s den before her eyes caught him and Princess. She froze, her fur beginning to fluff out.

“Who is this?” she growled, stalking over stiffly.

“Princess,” his sister replied, meeting Bluestar’s gaze with ease. “I’m Rusty’s sister from the Town. I helped him with your injured cat—foolish thing went too close to the road and got caught in the snow machine. Didn’t you teach her to avoid it?”

Bluestar twitched. “Are you questioning my clan’s competency?”

Eyes level, Princess replied: “Have you given me reason not to?”

“Princess, is it?” Redtail cut in. “Fireheart’s told me about you. He speaks highly of you. Thank you for helping our apprentice—this is her first snowfall, and I’m afraid an emergency prevented us from stressing the dangers of the snow machine.”

Bluestar shot him a look, but her eyes were right back on Princess. “Yes, thank you, but you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“There was no welcome to begin with,” she replied, getting to her feet. “Remember what I did—what _Rusty and I did_ —for that molly the next time you want to think so lowly of town cats.”

With nothing more to say, she stalked out of camp.


	17. Chapter 15

Fireheart crouched outside the healer’s den. Princess had just left and now it was time to wait for Yellowfang to come back. Both Mossflower and Goldenflower were in the den with Cinderpaw. He hadn’t been able to look at them when they’d rushed inside.

Bluestar and Redtail walked up, leaving their conversation and staring intently at him. “Tell us what happened,” the ‘star said sternly.

Rising shakily to sit properly, he told her everything. “I’m sorry, Bluestar,” he said. “When I let her go I didn’t even think that she would go towards the road. It’s my fault.”

“You should have been more vigilant,” she agreed, “but you’re a new warrior yourself and this is your first winter. I won’t be harsh. The kittypet who helped you, however…”

“Princess is my sister,” he confessed. “I’ve been visiting her. It was chance that she was close enough to hear me when I called for help, though. I didn’t intentionally go to her for help.”

“…You’ve been visiting a kittypet.”

“Bluestar,” Redtail piped up. “I—”

“Did I ask for your thoughts?” she said, not even looking his way.

His ears flattened and he raised his chin. “I knew about Fireheart’s sister and allowed him to visit her. It’s no blow to the loyalty of his clan, and it’s the only family he has. In fact, without Princess’s help, Cinderpaw might be dead.”

“She may still be by night’s end,” Bluestar said. “I’ll need to think more about what has happened tonight, Fireheart. For now, I will be satisfied if you aid Yellowfang’s efforts once she arrives—something I sure you already intended to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Do not leave camp without mine or Yellowfang’s permission. Understood?”

“Yes.”

Her ears twitched and twisted towards the entrance of the camp when the bushes rustled. “Meet her now, then. It’s sounds like she’s returned.”

Without a word, he rushed past them to meet Yellowfang. He skidded to a halt, blinking in surprise, when he saw that Barkface and Mudfur were with her.

“Yellowfang?” he stammered.

“Out of the way,” she snapped, shouldering past him and rushing over to the healer’s den. The two toms followed her, and a second later Smallear, Mossflower, and Goldenflower were chased out of the den.

Fireheart turned to Swiftstep. “Why are the other clans…?”

“A healer sees no borders,” he said. “They are welcome anywhere. And if Cinderpaw’s injuries are as serious as you suggest? She’ll need all the help she can get.”

At that, Fireheart rushed over to the healer’s den without even as much as a thanks for Swiftstep. He hesitated at the entrance, hearing the healers’ hushed conversation. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside.

“It doesn’t look good,” Barkface remarked. “Even Deadfoot’s injury only affects up to the first joint. This is her entire leg.”

“She’s lucky it avoided her spine,” Mudfur said. “Poor thing. She’ll have a hard recovery ahead of her.”

“If she recovers,” Yellowfang muttered.

“Um, Yellowfang?” Fireheart piped up.

“Fireheart, does it look like I have the damn time to hold your paw and tell you everything will be okay?!” she snapped. She didn’t look up from where she was hunched over Cinderpaw’s still form. The apprentice was still breathing, but certainly unconscious.

“Can I help?” he asked. “With anything? I can go into the forest and get herbs for you.”

“It looks like we’ll have everything we need,” Barkface said, looking over Yellowfang’s stores. “Where you there? Can you give us more details?” He nodded, and Barkface beckoned him over. “Come share, then.”

This was the first time he’d gotten a really good look at Cinderpaw’s leg, having nervously kept his eyes averted before. It was bent horribly out of shape, but her fur wasn’t matted with too much blood. Yellowfang moved away to get some supplies, allowing Fireheart to sit between Barkface and Mudfur. The two old toms exchanged a look over his head, but he barely noticed as he told them what had happened.

“It’s hard to see tragedy like this,” Mudfur remarked. “I swore off the honour of a warrior to become a healer in hopes that I could help those afflicted, but for certain this line of work is not for every cat.”

“Truly,” Barkface agreed. “But you stayed calm enough to look for help, and you didn’t hurt her any worse. That’s more than I expect of most young warriors caught up in something like this.”

He’d never expected to receive comfort from cats from two different clans, but he felt a little better. “What do you think will happen? What can you do for her?”

“Amputation.” Yellowfang rejoined them, placing down a long strip of leather and a hollowed out wooden bowl filled with powerful smelling herbs. “An injury like this is bound to bring pain and infection, but by removing it entirely we will reduce the risks and free her of burden should she recovery.”

His gut twisted. “You’re—you’re cutting her _leg_ off?!” he squeaked.

“I’ve done this once before, but it was a cat’s tail,” she said. “It’s not an easy operation, and a tail is nothing compared to an entire limb. Do you have any experience, Barkface?”

The old tom regarded Cinderpaw. “Yes, but I’m afraid he didn’t make it. It’s a long shot, but I think you’re right, Yellowfang. This is the only way.”

“Can she be a warrior then?” he blurted out. “What’ll happen when— _if_ she lives?”

“She can,” Mudfur assured her. “Losing a limb is not the end of the world. Deadfoot is Windclan’s deputy and an able fighter. Her warrior ceremony will be very delayed, though. She’ll practically need to be retrained.”

“But she…she was so close…”

“I know, but if she survives this, she won’t be on her paws for months, and she won’t be able to train for months more. She may need to wait until the next Snows to get her name, but isn’t that better than to die?”

“I wish she hadn’t gotten hurt at all.”

“Wishing is about as useful as flying cats,” Yellowfang growled. “It happened. Now go pester someone else. This will require concentration and I don’t want an audience.”

Fireheart left the healer’s den, paws like stone. Still unable to wrap his head around what had happened, he had every intention of going to the warriors’ den and sleeping until he knew for sure whether Cinderpaw would live or die.

He nearly collided with Goldenflower.

“How could you leave her?!” she snarled. Her fur bushed out, pupils pinpricks, Fireheart immediately flattened himself to the ground. “She’s just an apprentice! She had no idea about the dangers of the Snows and you let her run off alone?! She could die because of you!”

His mouth worked, but no words came out. Goldenflower paced anxiously in front of him growling and hissing, tears in her eyes.

“You don’t deserve the title of warrior!” she yelled. “I hope Bluestar thinks twice before she ever gives you an apprentice of your own—”

“Goldenflower!” Tigerclaw rushed over, putting himself between them. “My love, he’s a new warrior, fresh to the Snows. You can’t take out your anger on him.”

She looked up at him, the tears falling from her eyes. “Why again?” she whispered. “Why would the stars doom my apprentice again, Tigerclaw? What are they trying to tell me?”

He pressed his head against hers. “Cinderpaw is not dead, my love. I promise, you will see her get her name, and be prouder than any mentor before you. The stars have said nothing except that the path Cinderpaw must take is harder, but they have not stolen her future.”

Speaking soft soothings to her, he guided her away. Mossflower, sitting nearby, walked over.

“I’m sorry,” she said, nosing Fireheart to his feet. “She’s upset. This…happened to Amberpaw, her last apprentice.”

His heart dropped. Sandstorm’s sister. How would _she_ feel? She and Cinderpw were friends, after all.

He started a little when Mossflower gave his ear a lick. “Whatever Goldenflower says, this isn’t your fault,” she soothed, settling down beside him. “I know my daughter. She’s headstrong. Would you have been able to stop her regardless? I’m not so sure—it’s why Bluestar gave her to Goldenflower, knowing she would be able to handle her energy.”

“But if—if I’d gone with, if I’d stayed with her,” he croaked, “wouldn’t I have been able to warn her?”

Mossflower gave his ear another lick, beginning to purr. He pressed into her plush fur, cast back to memories of his mother, purring to sooth his worries and calm him down. Somehow, Mossflower had much the same effect.

“You did what you could, and what you thought was right,” she insisted. “This was a terrible accident. Don’t take the stars on your shoulders because of it.”

Nothing more was said, and they sat together in front of the healer’s den, Mossflower calmly grooming him. Soon Swiftpaw came back and, upon hearing the news, joined them on Mossflower’s other side.

“Where’s Greystripe?” Fireheart asked as the sun started to come up. “Why hasn’t he come back yet?”

Mossflower blinked blearily up at the sky. “Someone should go find him.”

Fireheart instantly stumbled to his feet. “I will.”

Just as he was about to leave camp after getting Bluestar’s permission, however, Greystripe entered laden with prey. With a pigeon in his mouth, he could only wave his tail in greeting. It drooped as he took in Fireheart’s expression, and he put down the bird.

“Fireheart? What’s wrong?” he asked.

He shot a look at Mossflower, like she might want to give her son the news, but she was talking quietly to Swiftpaw, her back turned.

“It’s Cinderpaw,” he finally managed. “She’s hurt.”

He winced when fury flashed in Greystripe’s eyes. “WHAT?!” he snarled. “Who hurt her?!”

“She got caught in the snow from the snow machine,” he said. “It, it was my fault—”

But Greystripe was already tearing towards the healer’s den, the pigeon forgotten on the ground. Mossflower intercepted him, stopping him from barging in. Greystripe listened breathlessly to his mother as she told him what had happened. Fireheart stood nearby, ears back.

“Yellowfang and the other healers are still working,” she finished. “We won’t know the outcome for some time.”

“Greystripe, I’m sorry,” Fireheart said before he could speak. “I should have paid closer attention.”

He stepped back when his friend rounded on him, fury in his eyes. Whatever words leashed in his throat remained tethered, though. Gritting his teeth, he tore his gaze away, glaring at the ground.

“No,” he said, “I won’t blame you.”

“This was a terrible accident,” Mossflower cut in. “No one was at fault. Only the stars will know if she survives now.”

“If the stars cared so fucking much, she wouldn’t be in there to begin with,” Greystripe spat.

He turned on the heel and stalked over to join Swiftpaw’s vigil just outside the healer’s den. Mossflower shot Fireheart a sympathetic look, then went to join them.

Though he’d wanted to join them when he left, he didn’t feel welcome. He stood in place, staring at the yawning entrance of the den and wondering what could possible be happening inside. Wondering if Cinderpaw could feel it as the healers removed her leg from her body. Did she know already that her path to becoming a warrior had suddenly become so much harder?

“Fireheart.” He started at Redtail’s voice. The tortoiseshell tom beckoned him to follow, and they moved to a quieter place in the clearing.

“Are you alright?” he asked once they’d settled.

“Me?” he sputtered. “Shouldn’t you be asking Cinderpaw?”

“What just happened was stressful to you, too,” he said. “Normally a healer would handle these questions, but they’re busy and I know that look on your face. It’s normal to think that tragedy is one’s own fault—”

“Especially when it actually is, I bet,” he spat. “I don’t care what you or anyone else says. I was there. I could have stayed with her. It wasn’t an accident—I let this happen!”

“I know,” he whispered. “I _know_. And I know hearing that it wasn’t your fault over and over isn’t working.”

Fireheart shot him a miserable look, and Redtail nodded sagely.

“It’s normal,” he said. “And it’s important you let those feelings pass through you. Look at them, recognize them, speak with them, but do not give and give to them until you have nothing left because all they will do is take. They have a place, as all hurt does, but it’s easy to let it consume you until it becomes everything you are.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, he gave a tiny nod. Redtail pressed into him, letting his longer fur nearly envelope him.

“Redtail?”

“Yes?”

“Moss…Mossflower told me this happened to Amberpaw,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He went rigid, then sighed. “It did,” he murmured. “And that day I felt like it was my fault too. So many things are beyond our control, though. And many more things are simply meant to happen. Remember, though: Cinderpaw has a chance to live, and you gave her that chance.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

“Wait.” He resisted Redtail’s attempts to nudge him towards the warriors den. “What about Princess? Is Bluestar going to punish me for seeing her?”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. If a queen can see a loner mate from outside the territories, it’s no more detrimental for you to see your sister. It’s only an issue because it connects you to your old life, and because it has intersected with clan life. If the clan allows it, I imagine she will simply allow it to be forgotten.”

“And if not…?”

“Then she will tell you not to see her,” he said, “but that only asks that you see her more…quietly.”

His heart clenched at the thought of not seeing Princess anymore, but the grip loosened as Redtail added his reassurance. As his body relaxed, it was more tension than he’d realized he was holding. Exhaustion hit him like one of the cars on the road. Redtail nosed him gently.

“Go and get some sleep,” he said. “We won’t know Cinderpaw’s fate for some time.”


	18. Chapter 16

Along the Windclan border, the river was thinner and rougher, and the banks were steep. Not even a Riverclan cat would brave the rapids, much less a Wind, but they patrolled there anyways. There plenty of places that a patrol could leap from rock to rock, avoiding the waters altogether.

Wars had been fought with Windclan in the past over the banks of this river, as well, where lush herbs grew in abundance. According to Echomist, rarely did one clan have control over both banks, but it’d been known to happen. Sooner or later, though, they always lost control and the balance was restored.

It was balanced now, fortunately. War with Windclan hadn’t happened since Breezestar had taken over, an era even before Crookedstar’s time. Leopardfur had heard the stories though that not every Wind was happy owning only one side of the river.

“I’ll mourn the day Breezestar passes,” Stonefur remarked, gazing across the river to the moorlands beyond. “I don’t know that Deadfoot won’t follow his example, but I worry.”

“He’s lived this long,” his mate, Rippleclaw, pointed out. “Chances are he’ll outlive the both of us.”

“The day Breezestar dies will be the day I get a mate,” Ivytail agreed with an annoyed flick of the tail.

“So…never?” Leopardfur ventured, earning her a look from the molly. She shrugged. “You said it first.”

“I don’t see _you_ with a mate.”

“I’m not asking,” she shot back. “And I’m a fresh warrior. What’s your excuse?”

“Don’t you two have anything better to do than argue?” Stonefur sighed, flicking his tail irritably across Leopardfur’s ear.

The evening was fading. They’d been on patrol for awhile, making extra sure their borders were reinforced. As if Crookedstar feared that, after the debacle with Thunderclan, Windclan might try to take advantage. Leopardfur really didn’t see that happening—Breezestar had made his stance quite clear, after all.

The next Gathering was soon, though. Every night Silverpelt opened her eyes a little wider—and many of those nights she’d spent with Sasha. Though she tried to hunt to make up for it, she’d vowed tonight that she wouldn’t see Sasha at all, dedicating herself to both a patrol on this border and a later patrol along the Town border. She’d even promised to go hunting with Silverstream later, though with the snow coming down she partly regretted that. She hardly wanted to be dipping her paws into the snow cold waters.

“You know,” Ivytail said, a mischievous purr to her voice, “I might have a shot at your sister, Stonefur. I hear Mistfoot and Blackclaw have been doing nothing but fighting.”

Stonefur, who’d also been mentored by Whitefang Leopardfur recalled, had a stoic personality that reminded her so much of the passed warrior that her heart ached. He didn’t appreciate Ivytail’s jokes any more than Whitefang would have either.

“Keep your nose out of my family’s business,” he said sharply.

“My love, it was a joke,” Rippleclaw soothed.

“Then she can stop making jokes about it too. It’s not a matter to be taken lightly.”

“What’s even going on with those two?” Ivytail ventured, not spurred in the slightest by his hostility.

“For the senior warrior of this patrol, you’re sure acting like a nosy ‘paw,” Leopardfur said.

“I’m just concerned,” she said. “When those two were fresh, they seemed so in love. How does that change?”

“It changes when Blackclaw refuses to change,” Stonefur growled. “Now stay out of it.”

“You’ve seen what his sister is like and you expect him to _change?”_ Ivytail said with a laugh of disbelief. “That tom’s always been an ass—I never got why Mistfoot went for him anyways. Not when I’m around, at least,” she added beneath her breath.

“It’s not that simple,” Rippleclaw said. “I suggest you keep your nose out of it now. Stonefur already told you to stop.”

Ivytail huffed and dropped back to make pace with Leopardfur instead. “True soul mates, those two, both with sticks in their asses.”

“You’re the one joking about his sister going through a breakup—with young kits in tow—and you think _they’re_ the assholes?” Leopardfur growled.

She took great satisfaction in the way Ivytail rolled her eyes. “Leave it to Oakheart to stick me with the three biggest killjoys in the entire clan.”

As they reached the end of the patrol, nearing the Houses border, Stonefur stopped and motioned for the rest of them to as well. They watched as he prowled forward, jaws parted. He brushed his muzzle along a dying fern, a suspicious growl bubbling in his throat. Rippleclaw padded forward to smell as well.

“Shadowclan,” he finally said. “But that doesn’t make sense. This is as far from the border as you can get.”

“The Kit Killer’s Loyalists, perhaps?” Stonefur rumbled. “Perhaps Shadowclan should control its fucking rogues.”

“Nightstar already can’t be trusted,” Ivytail pointed out. “You saw how he lied about those Wind kittens.”

“Should we go back and tell Crookedstar?” Leopardfur asked.

“Not much he can do,” Rippleclaw muttered, “but yes, we will. I’m sure he’ll like to bring it up at the Gathering.”

The trip back to camp was uneventful. Leopardfur couldn’t help but wonder why the Loyalists would ever want to encroach on Riverclan territory. Were they that desperate for prey? But they hadn’t found any evidence of hunting. She didn’t understand it.

That was soon out of her mind though as she returned to camp. She checked everywhere for her sister, but she didn’t seem to be around. Tail twitching, she walked over to the elders den.

“Do you know where Silverstream is?” she asked Piketooth, who was lying outside.

He shrugged. “I swear I saw her leave a little earlier. Probably for some dusk time fishing.

Dusk had been done and over with well before she’d even return. She huffed. “Thanks.”

Maybe she’d forgotten and gone out with Mosspelt instead. Mistfoot wasn’t in camp at the moment either—maybe she’d taken her friend to get away from the kittens for a time. Leopardfur left camp and stood with her jaws parted in hopes of finding her sister’s scent. She began to head downstream.

Her heart wrenched when she saw Shadepelt and her apprentice leaping across the rocks, heading back to camp after swimming lessons in the Shaded Pool. It should have been her, she thought fiercely. Wasn’t she trustworthy enough to train an apprentice? Wasn’t she a skilled enough warrior to at least teach a ‘paw _something?_

She slid into the bushes and quickened her pace to avoid them, her drive to find Silverstream burning brighter than ever.

Though a part of her wanted to accept that hunting had been postponed so she could go up to the farm instead.

It and Sasha had become respite as of late. Sasha, who knew nothing about the clans, who looked at her without bias and never expected anything of her except to merely be herself. And to be herself, unapologetically and freely? Was like a breath of fresh air after a life spent knowing that she was the last thing Riverclan wanted from a cat.

What made her want to be their leader, anyways? They didn’t want her. Not the her that she knew she was, at least. It wasn’t like she was starbound either—her trip to Moonstone had confirmed that, regardless of whatever mysterious, non-Starclan voices had whispered into her ear.

And yet, Leopardstar had such a fine ring to it.

Giving her head a thorough shake, she exchanged the shelter of the trees for the uneven rocks which made a path across the river. Already the snowmelt was swelling the river, but that wasn’t what concerned her. Silverstream wasn’t on any of these rocks, yet her scent hadn’t doubled back. The only option, if she hadn’t fell and drowned in the river, was that she was over in Thunderclan territory.

No that was ridiculous. Silverstream could have simply swam to shore. Her pelt may not be as long and thick as a River borne cat, but it nonetheless kept out water well enough that she’d be fine. She walked along the rocks, searching for where she might have pulled herself out.

But when she didn’t find anything, her concerns returned with the burning force of Hiverne’s eye. Finally, she leapt out onto the stepping stones, following the scent trail across the river. Her ears flattened and her eyes grew wide with horror as she realized that Silverstream’s scent didn’t linger. She was getting closer and closer to Thunderclan territory, and her sister had kept going strong.

She reached the other side where Silverstream had continued downstream towards the Town. She didn’t smell stressed or worried, though. An unsettling suspicion churned in her gut.

When she heard voices, _laughing voices_ , up ahead, she nearly stopped to wretch. There was no way Silverstream was this stupid. There was no chance. And yet, as she crept closer and closer, she recognized the deep mew of Thunderclan’s own Greystripe.

She slid to a stop in the bushes where she could see the two of them. Silverstream looked almost tiny, pressed into Greystripe’s side.

“It’s really not that bad,” she was saying. “The fish makes your coat glossy and shiny. River born or not, the water barely even touches your skin!”

He shuddered. “I don’t know if I could do it,” he confessed. “I’m probably a Thunder for life.”

“Well I think you’re missing out. Swimming is my favourite! Though I _will_ say that it’s easier to learn in the summer. Lep and I had to learn at the very end of winter and it was so cold I thought I was going to die. And Lep wouldn’t have gone in at all if Whitefang hadn’t pushed her. _And_ she would have drowned if Crookedstar hadn’t already been in the water to pull her head up!”

“You don’t make a convincing argument, Silvy.”

_Silvy._ Fucking _Silvy._ Her blood began to boil and she stood up abruptly and strode out of the bushes. The pair instantly leapt apart.

Of all the things on Silverstream’s face, though, she did not expect to see relief. “Oh, Lep, it’s just you.”

At least Greystripe had the courtesy to look nervous, especially when Leopardfur hissed at them. “Are you fucking insane? Could you possibly be doing anything stupider right now? You told me it was just a crush!”

Her ears twisted back. “Well I couldn’t just tell you outright. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it up sooner, I just wanted to be sure.”

“Sure of what? Sure that you’re breaking the fucking Code on top of flirting with the most idiotic cat in all of Thunderclan?!” Her fur began to bush out, tail lashing.

“Greystripe is a good tom, Lep. And he’s not _stupid_! He’s clever and charming—”

“And a fucking murderer!” she snapped.

Greystripe flinched and Silverstream head jerked up, her claws sliding out. “It was an accident!”

“I’m sure that’s what the circumstances played in his favour for the rest of us to believe. It’s all too easy, isn’t it, to give him a little shove knowing no one would know?” she spat at Greystripe. “It’s easy on fucking Sunningrocks to get a little revenge for Fuzzypelt’s murder! Keep the cycle going, hurt like you’ve been hurt!”

The tom flinched away, and Silverstream stepped pointedly between them. “Leopardfur, Grey and I have talked about what happened. It really was an accident, and if he could take it back, he would! You need to let it go.”

“Let it go?! He killed my mentor!”

“Whitefang’s death hurt him as much as it hurt you, you know!”

Something in her snapped. “YOU REALLY THINK MURDERING A COMPLETE STRANGER HURT HIM AS MUCH AS LOSING MY MENTOR?!” she yelled.

Without waiting for a response, she whipped around and dove into the water. Silverstream called after her, but Leopardfur never heard her jump in after her. Feeling all the worse for it, she pulled herself up on the other side and ran into the bush.

Her paws always took her to the farm when she was upset, it seemed. It hurt more than usual, though, Whitefang’s death raw on her tongue all over. Seeing Greystripe’s face, she couldn’t help but relive that night, seeing her mentor’s body drenched in a pool of his own blood, arched at Greystripe’s feet.

It weighed her down much like her waterlogged coat, but the icy cold of the river didn’t numb the pain like she wanted it to.

She was back at the farm. With a sigh, she sat by the fence post and began to groom the water out of her fur until she spotted Sasha trotting over. She had a mouse in her jaws.

“Hungry?” she asked, dropping it at her feet.

She wasn’t, but Sasha worried whenever she refused her welcome gift. She bent and ate while Sasha told her about her day.

Only once she finished eating did she ask: “You look bothered today, Leopardfur. Is everything alright?”

“I’m…no.” She pushed her paws into the half frozen soil to bury the mouse bones. “Just trying to process something.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well, then we should do something.” Her eyes sparked with delight. “You could show me some more battle moves.”

An ear twisted back and a little guilt that she’d taught Sasha anything at all crept in. Yet how else would Sasha protect herself? The farm’s supply of prey wouldn’t go unnoticed forever, and eventually Sasha would need to establish that this place was hers. Leopardfur, for a moment, indulged the idea of living here with her. Of leaving clan life behind and living with Sasha forever.

She jerked her mind away from those thoughts when she realized that she didn’t have her usual safety net of “what about Silverstream?” to catch her when she ventured down that hole. Was she really that mad at her sister?

“Yeah, let’s do that,” she said. “Inside the barn, though. You look like you’re about to freeze your fur off.”

“I have thin fur!” she protested through chattering teeth.

“I know. Remind me to get you a pelt before winter gets here.”

Though she was sure Sasha thought about this more as play than battle training, she wasn’t a bad fighter, per se. She had agility now that she’d slimmed down and bulked up, but she lacked conviction. Her blows remained soft and playful, and for now Leopardfur didn’t have the heart to tell her that she would have to actually unsheathe her claws if a rogue trespassed on her territory.

They stopped sometime later. Sasha groomed her pelt through heavy breaths. It was just as glossy and gorgeous as ever.

“Thanks for visiting me so much, Leopardfur,” she said, flopping down onto the barn floor beside her. The fur on Leopardfur’s spine began to spike up with alarm, but she forced it to lie flat. Forcing herself not to move away proved to be harder. Forcing herself not to bury her face into Sasha’s fur the hardest. “You’re a really good friend. I’d be so lost and alone here without you.”

“I…I would be too,” she admitted. “Sasha…what if I just lived here with you?”

Sasha scrambled to her feet and Leopardfur flinched away as if she’d been struck, horrified that those words had even come out of her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for rejection.

“That’s not what you want.”

She opened her eyes a crack, seeing that Sasha was staring back calmly. “What?”

“You’re upset about something right now, I can tell,” she said. “But I know you don’t mean that question. If you left your clan, if you left your sister, it would hurt you more than anything in the entire world, Leopardfur. I can’t let you do that to yourself.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “They don’t want me. I don’t belong, Sasha.”

“Then why do you talk about swimming with such love in your voice?” she said. “Why do you look at the stars and every time seem like you’re seeing them for the first time? You tell stories that they taught you with such _care_. You love your clan so much. You don’t want to live here.”

She did though. She wanted to live here more than anything. She wanted to never think about clan wars and border patrols, to sit in bright sunlight and groom Sasha’s coat with long, languid strokes of her tongue. To hear her purr as they curled up and slept every day, content and perfect as long as they had each other.

But even as she thought that, she also thought of the river. That she would never taste the brilliant flavours of fish again. She would lose waking in the middle of her clanmates and know that any one of them would die for her, and she for them, no matter how much she felt like she didn’t belong.

Her eyes burned with the agony of that realization. “You’re right,” she croaked.

Sasha gave her cheek a gentle lick. “You’ll be happier there.”

“I don’t know that I’ll be happy anywhere, Sasha.”

Without another word, Sasha pressed into her side, as if that alone would chase away her the agony in her heart.


End file.
